Where to look?
In a book?
For a sound.
To a colored house or a shape of five?
To people of red and blue, but half alive?
It cannot be found.
No! Seek the truth, the faith, the way!
Find it here, the saints all say.
Even here, my voice is drowned.
I hear it here, right here inside.
Crying to get out alive.
Screaming from the inner self,
to be pulled from the shelf.
A voice discerned,
a heart concerned,
a soul with blessings which abound.
Two small heads entrusted there,
two small hearts taught to care,
My voice, perchance sent heavenbound.
I hear it speak to their small ears,
even through the mindful tears.
Their lives of love and laughter be,
hope for my dying voice eternally.