The birth of Voice.

Poetry: Black picture

Bricks loose like pulled teeth,
yellow chipped paint with a
whole white daisy.
Pale sky heaving through
caved wooden ribs.
Hunched shadows hunting– shadows behind
keening walls marred in soot.
Whimpering cries, harried shushing
silence screams ringing in the ears
breath coming out fast–faster, sharp intake, pause–

soft whistle blow
a humming tune, picked up
as she stands louder,
lifts her soiled dress by the ragged hem
her voice dips- rises
the soles of her bloody feet
twist and turn her
hair spilling out against
the shafts of smoky light
eyes closed as the tempo
arcs in the desolace
delicate wrists bent to raise
empty palms, fingers taut to the sky
reverberating waves far to the East

…and voices slither in from the shadows
voices that rise and rise
swell and burst
from throats clogged in hardened spittle
shrieking into a cry so primal—cut short
in her


5 responses to “The birth of Voice.”

  1. Beautifully penned!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Tanya ❤ !!


  2. Very beautiful piece.

    Liked by 1 person

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