my mind is sick, like a gnat in spider’s stuck
in the web of mindless and unloving speech,
a sickening and stuttering response
to my moments of selfless love
sacrificing hours i needed to plough and dig
the field, the city archives retrieving speech
of men and women of the past to paint a story
of the spirit and values of a surrendering
the life-jacket my ancestors put-on to glide
the visible, the same i wore to collect speech
the sores in
tongues of my contemporaries
that i was destined
to balm with my poems
© henry victor 25.07.2015
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