- Books, Literature, and Writing
Lips have Spoken
Lips have spoken compliant
whispers of syllables,
to poor out in a melody
of expectance and predictability,
that pushes its way gently
to the cranium of your consciousness,
to pour out from the other side of
your hollow skull,
and leak down your neck –
like thin runny egg yolk.
A seed that was never planted.
A life that was never lived.
The lips have then clamped down
while feeling the thump of
blood rushing to them,
turning them bright red in fury,
biting down on the jagged words -
You see but
a shadow of me
in a stained glass window.
© 2016 Marié Patricia Nicolina Murray