Rippled sounds of my squeaking voice,
Echoes in my own head.
It bellows loud in the silence;
As I lay on my bed:
“Today again, you tried in vain.
Overhead, the night looms.
Do you see the sun pale, strengths wane?
Yet no spring flower blooms.
The frontline’s for the stern and stout.
Your place is in the shades.
All who dare, face a ruthless rout.”
With these taunts, my hope fades.
The husky voices of strangers,
Fade with each striding step.
But my heart’s own whimpering whispers,
Grow louder with each step.
These fears, threaten to sink my dream.
Words seek to make me drown.
Against my mind’s current, I swim.
It takes all of my brawn.
It’s a cycle as old as me,
A tale of void shackles.
And often when I think I’m free,
It speaks; my mind buckles.
Alas! I found they’re all shadows;
They are not even mine.
I peer in them but find hollows.
I wonder, why did I whine?
The Book was what opened my ears,
To hear beyond my mind.
Now those rippled sounds and fears,
Have all been cast behind.