poet's tongue

i want to hear your poet voice again

not your patience
not your acceptance
not your quiet reassurance that the world is beautiful

i want to hear your anger
your frustration
your fear and your shame;

i want to hear the passion you reserve for justice.
i can see it in your writing and i can feel it in your soul
i want to hear that unleashed
i want your spit in the mike and your hair in your face
i want you to forget that others are watching

i feel i may have missed that stage
or at least arrived late;
i want to know that someone, somewhere has heard that voice
that they have taken something of it with them
that that has been released to the world to make change
somewhere.

ripples don't always have to start with pebbles.
sometimes they start with boulders.

(sometimes, when they need to be big enough
they are even begun by earthquakes.)