If you were less than human you would speak.
Were you the forceful river you’d not stop.
Though as you’re not, your drowning silence wreaks.
Were you a weeping willow planted deep
would not your teary leaves of winter drop?
If you were less than human you would speak.
For even yawning winds in morning creak
and rush to strike like hooves in gallop clop,
though as you’re not, your drowning silence wreaks.
And even as a weed beneath a creek
your words will burst in whispers at the top.
If you were less than human you would speak.
And as a single blade of grass you’d seek
your safety in the swaying of the crop,
though as you’re not, your drowning silence wreaks.
For then the rose in loss of beauty leaks
and crackles, wilting through your thorny chops.
If you were less than human you would speak,
though as you’re not, your drowning silence wreaks.