Silent Wailing [Sonnet]

I saw the lips move, but no sound came out.
 The message could not cross from air to brain.
  With reddened face, next an attempted shout,
   but silence suggests words weren't true but feigned.

You'll think me deaf, but I heard other sounds:
 a ticking clock, a fan, and distant horns.
  Maybe, barrier glass made unseen bounds?
   Perhaps, but what bars only sound that mourns?

I know of nothing that would fit the bill,
 but start to suspect nothing stopped the scream
  from reaching me, but rather force of will
   did stick that voiceless face within my dream.

But am I sure I'm having a nightmare?
 I can't say for sure that I'm even here.

Pause Bloat [Free Verse]

A pause hangs in the air
like poison gas.

It threatens to devour
more moments:
good moments,
sacred moments,
moments that could've been something.

It envelops all,
encasing minds in psychic concrete,
entombing thoughts so hushly
that not even the thinker can hear them.

Through the ear-ringing hours,
nothing is said
nothing is heard --
not a word or a scream
or unsolicited fashion advice --
nothing but the high tone
that slits through silence.