Damnit

The silent minute
Drags more than all
The reverberating air
Ignores the folds which define thought
At least mine own
You, of the devil's complexion
Freely do thine mental statements overflow
Drown me
However shallow they be
Allow the ocean of pensive thought
demolish my poor craft
My catalyst
My embodiment
Though a fragment remains
Shall I breathe into it?
Ponder deeply
But ignorance allows bliss
Squawking phantoms of opinion
Much like the minute of silence
Grease the murder cog
Deafened ears ne'er grasp hold of either