The Voice

As they walk through the door, just one look in their eyes, Tells me, “Yes, it’s going to be one of those nights” The knot in my tummy starts heaving and weaving its way Through my system. The runaway train in action. Who knows if or when it will stop? It runs out of steam and eventually grinds to a halt, And I am left in the wake of that smoky bitter encounter. “Will this ever end?” I ask myself in the dark. “No”, I reply As my companion Despair wraps his arms around me, And together we wait for the dawn. What a snapshot. Then one day, I snapped, and shot them a glance which said, “No more. You can’t make me do that anymore. You can’t make me squirm and disappear with the elves Ever again. I’m here. I’m present. I’m strong, and I choose my own nights, My own encounters, my own mode of transport, to where I Choose to go…I think.” Another time, another place, another look, or should I say, “gaze?” Beckoning me to a place of safety with no tricks, no trains, no knots. Who ever imagined a...

Sometimes it can’t be heard It gets stifled by the louder other things. Things that mask and disguise it Things that try to protect its release If you listen carefully, really carefully Really want to listen you can hear it Faintly pleading, quietly longing to be heard But you don’t listen Your ears are filtered, just hearing those who are obvious and immediate But it’s still there, it does not leave the voice of my silent scream