"Wrought"
5/22/2019
Will my voice forever remain unborn?
Through the ages of this world we adorn,
Unspeakable things that die in the womb,
Parish like words spoken in empty rooms.
Blind are the windows and deaf are the walls,
Unheard are the whispers, the chants, the lulls.
Paint an ocean on the ceiling, spatter stars on the floor
Death is a hallway and life is a door.