harsh

Sometimes I wish my voice would disobey me,

boxing out the harnessed, tempered monotone.

The notes of falsity exposed – loud, cruel and awkward –

rising like a muzzled bear.

My vanity so delicately tucked inside a glass,

cracked with the pitch of wailing walruses,

the second that it thrusts.

Rage forced through a mouse’s squeak

would bounce pathetic, scurried, weak

against those whom I intend to hurt unjustly.

Then gold would be an easy earning made through silence.

22/07/2011