A Voice Postponed


What happens to a voice postponed?
Does it close up,
Like the sound of a mother who lost her pup?
Does it lower in tone,
Like the sound of a father who never made it back home?
Or is it loud---
Like the scream of a child being gunned down?
Is it silent like the homeless man who was buried at the mound.
Is it written like a dream deferred,
Where a woman's voice is seen as absurd.
Does it screech like a bird,
Or is it slurred and stirred like a spoon in a prison's kitchen?
Maybe it's the baby's cries of tensions that have risen.
Does it have an unbearable stench,
Where one didn't have a seat at the bench.
Is it stitched in, like a needle and pin?
Or is it the grin that stains the skin.
Is it the chains of a world that's as empty as a bin.
Lost in the wind,
With nothing but the spin of a sin that has yet to be freed.
Nah...
What happens to a voice postponed?
It's the cries of a world disowned.

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