Aphasia

Aphasia

There is that ambivalent silence
That lingers, floating in the air.
No words are spoken- hushed she lies in the corner
Her room once lit with swirling colors.
Befallen with darkness, a nightingale sings
Its melody alluring- a rise in her senses.
But no, the tears tell it all
Of which appear ironed to her cheeks.
Closed porcelain eyes, mouth pursed into a tight line
Left with a sealed stamp of aphasia