What is, to be mute?

I am... mute
Formless
Doubtful
Strange
Without my exponential use
Of words
In the solitude
Of my own room
Where the window greets
The sun and moon
A Curtain never closed
To shine through

Marx said
Only practical
Is consciousness
When papered
Or penned before
Which spellbinding
Bind and bend
Ideas through a convex lens
To magnify societal trends
And distribute thoughts through
A universal orifice
To file the proof

Words like numbers
Signify
Conventions of
The plane
The sky
They draw lines in sand
Afar off from the people
Betwixt like clay
Permeations of dust
Of beating hearts
And of the mind and soul
That carries us

To explain
Reality
Sombre dissonances in clarity
Intrusions into the mental nest
Through the stretch lines
Of a 5th Century mothers breast
As we learn to feed the hatched
With powdered milk
To keep her figure lean
And class of ilk
And bring consciousness
To the masses

I am mute...
Without a verb
Incommunicable
Without a word
Speechless when lacking vowels
Indistinguishable
From the bleating owl
Without my consonant bough

Languageless
I am unreal

Without translation
I am soulless