Resurrection

Somebody left a lot of words
on this table.

Someone felt their own tongue
and what they already knew was
enough.

Someone felt
that if they couldn’t
pronounce a word, it wasn’t
necessary.

Someone felt
that changing the words
did the trick
so they mauled them, then stole them,
called them their own, leaving the rest 
unsaid. 

Someone forbid
these words over here:
names for God, maybe,
or for plants no one’s seen
for a long time. Same thing,
really. 

Someone slapped stolen words
all over their map
and made up cute definitions for them
in their own
language. 

Do you know how many words
they left behind of the ones you
were destined to speak before
they came in and robbed you
of the perfect way to shape your
voice?

Someone left many of your words
on the table. Hard wind blowing now and 
they are drifting, lifting off; dissolving
into thick air — unless you want them?
Catch them, stuff them into your
throat

to wait until the time comes
to open up and sing them
out?

Someone is terrified of the things
you know how to say, the things
they cannot, things they’d hoped you would
forget.

Someone’s standing silent
now.

What you could say
using those words,
they will likely not 
understand.

Go ahead,
speak
.

It has been
an age since the last time you could,
and no doubt, someone is straining to 
hear.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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