Covered in Dust, a poem

Dust

I may be words

stuffed away in an attic,

covered in dust,

but the ink

has bled its lines

upon the page

and they cannot

be undone.

They are the

souls searching

for itself,

the stillness

requesting to be sung,

they are the heartbeat

and the soul

of every

uttered breath.

They meant something

they meant something

they meant something

to me –

to have filled

these passing moments

taking space

within my brain

and scratching

at my senses.

They would not

let me

refuse to speak.

At moments,

I have watched

the unfurled petals

of spring’s bounty

creep forth

against the passing of time.

I have detailed her edges,

witnessed her beauty,

and ached to paint

her longing reach.

At moments,

I have witnessed

injustice –

seen words spat

across centuries

men bent over

hobbled beneath

the expectations of their skin.

He tries to run,

but we have

lacerated his limbs

and when he speaks –

we blame his tongue,

so I shall add my voice

to the voices calling out

begging for change.

It matters not,

that my pages

shall never curl

with overuse

nor that the dust

may seek

to squander my words.

I speak

so that I may silence

the nagging urge

to empty

my soul’s contents

to see, to feel, to witness

life’s passing

and to revel in its meaning,

to leave my heart,

to leave…

my heart,

for anyone in passing,

that needed the song

sung.

 

© Sumyanna 2017

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