The Lost Voice

I must pull it out,
From the maze of scattered answers
Interspersed with cluttered questions.
My singing voice has been hiding,
Its timid tales untold.

So much has been,
From that purple-pink pre-dawn
To the raging rising of a warm fall sun.
From the jagged cracks on the flat river
Where the sun,
Slicing slick shafts through multi-tiered clouds
Painted the water iridescent green
And somber blue…
To the sand, creeping into hang-nails
With the intimidating rise of oceanic waves
Smelling of distant, day-old crabs.

Meanderings have recycled my being,
Afresh, to the last sedate molecule.

I now dream... despair not.

Sep 14th, 2010.