I think in circles,
in riddles,
in pictures of
indescribable styles.

I think in chaos,
in harmony,
in essences of
contradictory forms.

I think in hope,
in kindness,
in love of
thoughts and feelings.

I think often,
and always,
and yet,
my mouth
remains closed.

I think,
and do not speak,
because I do not value
that which I think.

I think in fear,
in embarrassment,
in images of
misguided beliefs.

I think,
and I know,
and yet,
I cannot speak.

And oh,
I wish I could.