i am the son

i am the son of my quiet solitude i gave birth to myself from the womb of my serenity this is the epithet of speed of science of knowing the mechanism of every ticking trinket every wrinkle of my hand is not a river to know to conquer
i am the son of shut up and listen of everything that was and will be in the second that it condenses in the sound of silence losing its voice to reason
i am the passive inside myself observing the mechanism but doing nothing i am the cog that is nothing else surgeon remove my concerns let the blood bleed my woes away down the river of a map not yet written
beneath the smoke behind the curtain the lie that lays low and hidden from too much but never enough its the speed that kills the silence its the silence that kills the need theres only a signal to noise ringing reverberance inside my head