The Voice

The Voice

Where is the voice?
Trapped in the politeness of the gagged Lion.
Then the bat stares you in the eye
And sees nothing there.
But March On!
Into the tumbling wave
Where thoughtfulness is the original sin.
The truth is in the stomp of the foot,
With a rumble that shakes loose the tears.
Is there anything softer than tears?
Collecting gently in the rolling river,
And caressing the banks of your Spirit.