Perfectly Silent

we fear desire;

uncertain voices whisper,

and the manacled poet no more speaks soul’s truth.

We transgress,

we confess

Obedient,

We manipulate a cold beauty;

not of our world.

Love is a dream,

after which only nightmares live.

We see them drowning

Grace, apparently finite,

 not enough for deliverance.

The translucent dead speak their sorrow.

a haunting memory to invoke heart’s passion;

a vision of denying the last breath.

Those left to know

Were left to speak

A spark of thought… of action,

Where none has been.

Shall the ghosts of judgment foresee the coup?

Or will those who remain revive true beauty?

Which blind and seeing eyes alike recognize.

The vision is clear

A task has been set

A call to action from those silenced by fear

The price we pay for prevailing justice

Can never exceed

The price already paid.