I don’t have any words,
only quiet between a place
where my pen pauses,
lingering over a question
about a question
about a question,
the cycle which spins,
flinging silence like sparks,
burning my fingers
into frozen pieces
of what used to be
my language
now silenced by a reason
still in hiding.



The genius of memory,
twisting our fates,
teaching our hate
to forge new reasons
for forgetting forgiveness
and framing feelings
as the criminal directing
a great escape
where others hunted
will be caught
but the master of
emotion will be free
to walk away,
to see release.