The Voices

This is the voice of sadness

following me through these dirty streets
the smell of contagion ripe in my nostrils,
discordant music rifling through my brain;
it finds a spot to sink claws into, and rips away.

All the time this presence fills me with
incredible fluids, leaking out faulty
tear ducts with dogged tenacity, but
never enough to set me free. Dark
laughter presses down on me; there
is nothing funny about this camel's weight.

This is the voice of contention

screaming in the brightest sun of things
I might have, should have, couldn't have done;
black/white, up/down, until my mind is a
sideways bump that people drive over way too fast.

Something bursts inside my ear, this is the sound of freedom;
banishment of the voices, in slashing motions I
cut them down, warn them off, this war has got to end.
So I push them roughly, hard, out of my way

They might come back tommorrow, but oh, no, not today....


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