Words

Sometimes the words just stop,
as if sulking in hidden corners,
resenting where they have been
taken, pouting in that soft-lipped

way they have, where the brutal
capacity is denied, and their
power is contained, because it
must be, even though the mind

does not understand why they
have retreated into that darkness
of isolation and surrender, as if
they have been chastised just

once too often, and now refuse
to make their presence known,
to allow themselves to be used,
as if to punish for what has been

done, unless, of course, it is a
reminder that sometimes it is
in silence that we find ourselves
and know truths beyond words.

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About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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