the words are missing

I’m rather embarrassed to tell you
I can no longer control my tongue.
Once it would weave the most complicated of notions,
brave new worlds springing forth with the lightest of touches,
inspiring a few who would listen.
Now the words are missing.
Structures laid incomplete, half finished.
Straw houses devoid of detail.
Its pace has changed,
where once we danced, now we stumble.
Slow. Uncertain. Enfeebled.
I miss the energy of the words,
yet until I leave here my tongue will not listen.

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