London Poem: Day 251

25 April

We fight the sound
To know the words,
To give our tongue’s
A little break.
So tired of stumbling,
And the wild flail
Of the fight,
Mirrors watch as mouths
Move, and the quiet flick
Of the tongue, back behind
Teeth, forces out merely
A whisper. I am still waiting
For the words
To replace the whisper.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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