so loud it could shake the moon,
so strong it could lift spirits,
so sweet you could taste it when she spoke.
It would echo when she sang
and fall upon deaf ears
and touch them
so they could even hear the tones of truth and grace.
But there was a curse
and disguised itself as love,
a song that she could sing to
and she did
and she thought,
“Well, this is great!
But not quite so…
Well, never mind,”
and shut her mouth.
And each time she opened it,
it got a little quieter.
At first you couldn’t tell
until the moon stopped glowing
and her spirit had fallen
and bitter was the only taste she knew.
The curse had stolen her voice
and buried it
in a dark place
where no one could hear it.
It tried to return
but the curse would scare it away again
and the girl was gone.
And she cried
but no one could hear
because he had stolen her voice
and replaced them with fire
Until one day
when she looked for the moon and saw the sun
and a tree
which directed the light down a path
and she took one step
and she felt it –
the tone of truth and grace
she had forgotten but not lost.
She took a step and she made it
to a field with a single flower.
She took a step and she knew it,
at the root of that flower,
She kissed its petals,
inhaled her song
and sang louder
than she ever had before
and her deaf ears heard
and the curse was broken.
Claws in the tires of the able-bodied;
Parasite of the able minded –
The weak feed on the strong –
There is power in numbers.
But what happens when there is no strength left to bleed
because it was strong enough to walk away?
Smart enough to hide?
Do the weak feed on each other?
Starving maggots in the dust they’ve destroyed –
If they could feed on sores they’d never go hungry.
Without one, none can follow;
The most powerful number is one.
Woke up in a storm and I was drowning,
on my lungs that couldn’t scream,
grasping for truth,
the lies I was fed.
The sweetness comes with a bitter pill,
until you spit in the face of the man who made it rain in the first place.
Woke up in the storm
but you were awake.
There is life the day after the storm.
It’s written on the walls
and the silence between calls,
The Pause before the phone rings.
That moment, suspended
between now and forever
where you can still turn back,
but should you?
You hold the key
but could you? Should you? Would you
dare to choose a future that looks nothing like your past
where each breath could be your last?
And time is ticking, fast
And not to choose is still to choose
You’ll never win chasing your own feet.
Where now and never meet forever –
that’s where growth happens.
Is this happening again?
Have I been here?
The space between seconds turns to hours turn to days
and it never seems to phase you when you turn your back on time
That’s fine –
Just wait and wonder
what could have been
if you hung up the phone before the cord wrapped around your neck,
choking tighter until you have to check the clock to see how long it’s been since you last tasted love upon your lips.
You scream and sob,
But you have chosen this.
So just before that hand can strike for you to count again,
just remember that you chose to drown but you can choose to swim.