this thing we call a voice
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…And so we write;
Recognizing ourselves within her various forms.
As she takes the shape of cloud or leaf;
Or the movement of sea or storms.
We leave behind us trails of words, struck in sharp relief;
Fingers touching pen or keys probing joy or grief;
Searching for hope, seeking relevant whispers;
Pleading seminal scope for God or kittens’ whiskers.
We turn ourselves, inside to out, through purge;
Searching for the ultimate shape, absolute size,
And perfect cadence of urge,
To capture the Hallelujah Shout
Of our birth,
Here,
In this place we call the Earth.
Where we do not have a choice;
Given by our destiny;
This thing: we call a Voice.
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2025
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