Inside Us
There’s an anger inside us
Seeking simply to be spoken.
A rage simmering under a heavy
Lid of learned repression
Now trapped in the silence of uncertain action
I would call it a peculiar kind of alienation
Only I’ve forgotten the object of our yearning
One day a strange man comes along speaking
Familiar words from the dead language
In which we have become so fluent.
We sit and listen to his puzzling diatribe,
How the words have devolved to mere sounds
Purged of any grounded meaning
Like the way ancient coffins become empty again
Once the last bone turns to dust.
It’s a suicidal praxis that cuts the music
And everyone stops dancing.
Who turned all the light on?
Seeking simply to be spoken.
A rage simmering under a heavy
Lid of learned repression
Now trapped in the silence of uncertain action
I would call it a peculiar kind of alienation
Only I’ve forgotten the object of our yearning
One day a strange man comes along speaking
Familiar words from the dead language
In which we have become so fluent.
We sit and listen to his puzzling diatribe,
How the words have devolved to mere sounds
Purged of any grounded meaning
Like the way ancient coffins become empty again
Once the last bone turns to dust.
It’s a suicidal praxis that cuts the music
And everyone stops dancing.
Who turned all the light on?
We were just getting good
At this new way of expressing
Everything we were always meant to say.
5/17/26
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