An echo of the gentle voice of yesterday.
Becomes subtle as a sledgehammer.
Tomorrow smashes the sound barrier as it shatters the clouds of disillusionment.

Last week trapped in cerumen,
Within the sticky ears.
Wax but not candle or bees.
Vibrations ensconced in pretty head.
Voices of the now long dead.

Speech sometimes impediment when the words all come out wrong.
Sweet voices not always the song of birds.
When the voice who needs to speak.
To preach out loud to those unheard.


By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)