Raw

No 4 Wishing Flr

Green and red.
Then green again.
Headlines, bodies, burdens, and reports.
New names, new venues, new hopes.
I’ve been walking in circles and
one sole is worn through.

Knowing I can never go home again
is not enough to keep me away.

Whispers and screams—
who is this fighting to be heard?

Am I the chosen one?
She who is needed to transmit the messages?
Or are these just voices in my head,
trying to lead me astray?

Tap, tap, tap,
click, click, clack,
the bookseller who types
high above the sea,
carving out characters with metal and ink
until society rubs her eyes
and voices her disapproval,
her new words coated in
the same old,
same old
cadence,
the same old,
same old
color.

I’ve dismantled my Tower of Babel,
but I may yet wear gold with my silver.