Oppressed Voices

The music of your breath

Feels boisterous to my ears now

For they are tormenting me

Day by day, echoing

Incessantly in my ears . . . .

The rhyme that once

Feasted my eyes is now

Making them water in ice and blue

The startling paradoxes

Stare at me with a smirk in it’s face

The striking similes

Questions my sanity

Lost I am in the morals of your parables

They rain heavy in my conscience

Feeding my inner conflict

Suppressing my ideals and faith

Replacing my palaces of hope

With your own answers and robbing

Me of my mistakes, findings, learnings and reasoning

The music of your breath

Feels boisterous to my ears now

For they sing my verse

Which was not written by me!

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