You become larger than you are,
swollen with vernacular and prose,
happy to contain and implode.
You empower yourself by having so much to say,
but in dignity holding your tongue,
by making knowledge your staple,
and sanctifying it all in your lungs.
A hold of breath,
a pause before a thought,
reducing yourself to rubble,
your ego, to naught.
All this plenitude inside,
fit for kings and queens,
quietly content, utterly observant,
hidden and unseen.