Enraptured shouts, but whispers in the wind
as hushed tones pouring forth in silence.
Lest within it’s stoic clutches burst.
Tears clinging fearful of the fall, withholding reservoirs.
Indignant fairies danced
across valleys dammed with weeping.
Cascades halted before the mouth of koi.
Laborious mists, birthing the breath of God
This he called Morning,
hope without mercy
I was looking at John Borrero’s “voices” and was taken back to the darker reality that I once called home and it gave rise to these words.