Letters all dead


Lips gone pale tied tongue to crush it is quiet now — it is quiet strength draining to deafen, make deaf break the mouth quiet the silence it’s unclear, confused not well known coming undone pitch black to a person in darkness darkening the dark called in the shade it’s not clear it has darkened cannot be heard, no one hears it caught the sun in the color of dusk scorched hidden I don’t understand red white it is quiet the loudmouth the muddled one I was not made to speak I was not revealed there is light sit in the white the voice is quiet to whisper speak by gossiping lack of sound sound is silence it is broken small hole a white horse this thing is also there it is finished the heart is being buried it has bent

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace