Small Voice

Maybe my voice is too small – polite?

I’m drowned amidst the frantic

Noise and clamour – maybe they’re right?

Screaming, biting, gnashing. Fear.


The voices of truth are now distant.

Grotesque walls of hate surround,

The shadow grows and spreads; no, I can’t.

My soul rages, my mouth still.


Maybe when they beat it; the beauty,

Maybe then I will utter.

Utter that I dare not even mutter.

That I love, love what we have.


Yet here I sit, polite. Don’t regret.

I could write a quote, insight.

I could preach and boil, an empty fight.

I could lament the loss in despair.


When I look back, what will I look at?

My inaction? My impotence? Hypocrisy?

Let it not be; much rather failure,

Better that than passivity that


Failed. Much rather raged against it all.

Against the greed, selling and buying

Our greatest responsibility, gift.


A pipe here, signature there. Deny. Deny. Deny.

Who are you, you suits and smirks,

You to destroy?


Destroy. That which has been here longer.

Buy your truth, buy our ears. Bind our mouths.

No more. A small voice is greater than none.



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