Conversations between my trees and what they say to me.
The Silent Voice
What is that you are withholding?
What is that you cannot say?
These words that aren’t being heard,
Are only being told away.
A trumpet that blurts in distortion
Can scare any herd, any day.
Better to lace it with proportion,
Like a tip in a song, undisplayed.
When the throat feels tight,
When the tongue tingles,
Your inner voice will recite,
What you repress as symbols.