I didn’t read this out.
My voice shut down.
Tears closed the gap in my throat.
It’s final;
but a new beginning looms and the horizon moves closer yet someone pulls it back out.
I didn’t read this one loud.
Time was too near, waiting for reactions I had not anticipated.
A voice that breaks is unprepared. Too much experience brings emotions on a tightrope as they learn to walk
far from able to
while they know how to
talk.
Reading your own words bares feelings that woollen cloths can’t veil.
A fragile voice is still tender; a broken whisper still a vessel and a careless thought christens the page it left unwritten.
The sense it leaves is far from bitter
never burnt and a nursing plant learns to stand.
A voice shatters the silence it breaks
in the night.
In the day,
still, I couldn’t.
This one, I had to write down and baptise the believers
forgive the forgiving and let loose the words that are never present when you need them
