Remember

I'd forgotten how to speak when I was hated and jaded among the black drawn rivers and the silent halls of four walls that everyone called good but I called hell. I watched, day by day, as the ones I loved slipped away without a care in the world for the girl with deep set stains running down her face and with a tongue that was swollen shut. It seemed like only yesterday when the words spilled forth like the fountain of youth drawn in blood and waiting, just waiting, for the day that I would scream and everyone would finally hear the tears that I'd bothered to hold back. The poets with their voices quieted all those fears of being hated, being jaded being lost, and completely broken. Suddenly there was life in a world drawn only in black and light while colors swirled, faded became bright, faded and then there was the chance to finally scream my pain in a way that no one could identify in a way that saved my sanity. The poets find my voice and took hold and I screamed with the agony of the dying. I screamed and screamed and screamed. One day I was heard and life became brand new and since that day I walked hand and hand with widows and orphans and those that are broken as we walk a long silent path through a world drawn only in black. I couldn't help but think as life passed in a flash and the poets and the widows never left and it feels like water sliding coolly off my back in the five minutes it took to compose this song of agony and healing. I remembered.