These Words

These Words…

spilling ebulliently,

vomited as unwanted pain

in the pith of the soul,

with intent to stain the atmosphere

as church glass glistens the pews;

they stand as witnesses of things

held in reticence to voice.

If we were to take these words,

with all of their convictions,

escaped convicts—who have chiseled themselves out,

past the stringent lips of our soul;

weaseled themselves past the confines of their sentences;

if we were to take these words,

hold them up to be judged by the jury

how would they convict us;

we who have kept them imprisoned

without life or light until now.

These words absent absolution

pregnant with wild emotions searching for solutions—call it revolution

call it something we’ve been looking for yet denying

it ever existed…

that loneliness in the still moments of silent screams;

the cacophonous secrecy of our soul knows the truth

the one we’ve kept hidden even still

for our tropes expressed have double tongues…

…we have kept these words prisoners

for we are afraid to face the loneliness

absent their company;

because once they have escaped,

they will make friends with others

forcing us to find new ones.

©Tshombe Sekou

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