My mouth is shut yet the words flow

like crushed diamonds flowing

over the edge of a winter’s cascade,

the avalanche of all that you have sowed,

scattered to the winds in an attempt

to confound and confuse the issue

all dealt with a sneer, the face of a person

who believes themselves to be a God

to dictate to a lesser mortal

what they must say in praise magnificence…

 

You are not a God, a divine spirit of spoken word

and I am not your doll to do your bidding,

to ravage my stubbed out fingers

to the bone in an attempt

to make your words

spectral and fulfilling…I am not a side show

in your pantomime.

 

Take your blasted hand from out of the middle

of my back and stop stabbing me

in the act of trying to find the right string

to pull, my mouth works well enough

of its own accord

and you are not a deity in which

I have to do anything for.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015