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