Letters
There are some letters
that we write and re-write
in our hearts,
until they are almost ready to be let go,
one-sided conversations
that we rehearse every night,
witty retorts that we practice while boarding subway trains
and walking down familiar alleyways.
The spirit can never be satisfied
with the limitations of language,
yet we cannot rest
until these words – mere ill-fitting hand-me-downs
for inexpressible ideas –
are set to paper,
and the restless bird
caged up inside of us,
whispering things we lack
the courage to say,
has been set free
by imprisonment in ink.
Copyright © J. Alfred | Year Posted 2014
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