I Have a Host of Gathered Words

I have a host of gathered words bound
Between my lips; between the bars
Of prison's speech. There, they are found,
And there, are they kept, for I have much
And much to say, but little how to sound
The words of my nervous, fretful heart.
I know not where the key is kept to pry
The very lock I hold, to free the dam
Of stale and aging thoughts. Thought I try,
I fail. Drowned by their own fatigue and choked
By own distress that makes them desert dry.
Oh to spill the prison's cells as the ocean drains.
I have host of gathered words and yet my cry
Remain-
            nothing else but speechless.