I cannot lift my voice beyond the fear,
a screaming, swirling storm of expectation.
The threads of cowardice they bind my lips,
this cage of my own making locks it in.
But trembling, wary whispers laced with truth
can drown a chorus made from bellowed lies.
A tonic in a sea of putrid falsehoods
born in stubborn heart; freed in valiant verse.
For even when my tongue abandons hope
these stanzas gift escape to unseen pain.
The bloodiest of archives for my eyes
to cleanse my wounded spirit of this life.