Withheld…


restless and helpless,
i wander through thorns and ferns
forest, a quiet place now.


countless acts of solace
i give out,
you felt nay.


thorns hurt me less
than the words buried inside
begging to be let out.


stumbling and wobbling on weakened feet
i wander through thorns and ferns
forest, a mere shelter now.


i pick up a flute
sung from a tree,
i prepare to play.


i whistled
through it until i was out of breathe,
nay sound came out.
maybe it withheld.


i pick up a violin
sung from a tree,
i prepare to play.


i spiel,
from the deepest vaults, a melancholy,
nay sound came out.
maybe it withheld.


i pick up a guitar
sung from a tree,
i prepare to play.


i ruffle the strings
with love and care, a melody,
nay sound came out.
maybe it withheld.


i feel heavy,
at heart,
all that should have rippled out
seems buried inside me.
withheld.


it pains, that it should be withheld.

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