SpeakA Poem by yashsicklefutureAssure
me, quietly. Speak
through the soft bristling of aging branches. Speak
through the rampant hiss of pavement. Do
so, as if you were the creaking shadow of a river. Who’s
mighty strength knows no restraint, Even
with the warmest of hearts. Speak,
my blood, tower over streets that claimed your origin. Speak
of fools that gazed upon burning tree tops and called them true. Speak
of understanding while abandoning regret by past lives set. Your
eyes will fall blind to your surname’s reverberating effect. Speak
through the falling bronze leaves, in the city hidden by trees. © 2013 yashsickleAuthor's Note
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