Sunday, March 30, 2025

This Poem Is

a bridge to an island
inhabited by 
a single person

uncaged intimacy
holding light up 
to a place that has only 
existed in total darkness

unrecorded names
etched in stone;
marking graves I 
never dared to recall
or memorialize

a sacred sanctuary 
where I can run
into myself and discover 
we speak the same language 
in a crowded land

a rule-less expression
children know instinctually
but, adults carelessly shed;
forgetting that a captured 
imagination makes
our dreams real

an urgent call, 
an uncorked bottle,
a game of telephone 
where contact turns silence 
into a permanent 
and pertinent connection

effective action after
being idle for too long
expanding self 
into glorious multitudes 

a bomb 
shelter for one
that ensures my survival
should the world
come collapsing down 
around me

a microphone
at long last 
that no one 
can drown out

the actual sound of my voice. 




 

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