Forgotten Whispers, Forgotten Men

They cut out our tongues for the amusement of others,

Others in the form of gods of mischief,

Carrying our young with them in their bellies,

Sated upon the desires of our childhood dreams;

Dreams our father whispered to us on our first day

Spectators, spectacles of spectacular wonders,

We are wide eyed with absolute innocence,

Watching with unfeigned interest,

As our coats are taken from off our backs;

Forgetting the face of our father and his whispers 

And the noises begin again,

The taunts and the jeers,

Angry audiences and unimpressed stands,

Loud cries of “boo” and “duh” floating by our ears;

Our untested weapons dangling useless in our tired arms 

Wither, wither, the commands run,

Hither and thither, like headless chickens, flutter,

Our hearts beaten with the beatings with which we have been bitten,

Our feet jangling in the fetters adorning our ankles;

Born for the delight of greedy betters 

Our books are lain open,

Our words from long ago read and reread,

And with pen in eager hands, they alter the words,

Giving them up on altars of stolen tongues;

Letter by tittle, our pages are stripped and burned 

But may we be found after the ashes have all scattered?

May our ink slither back to their original forms?

May our words find their way back to our ears?

May we find our father’s whispers again?

May we find us again? 

May we find our father’s whispers again,

To remember his face in the shouts of screaming sands,

May we find our words again?

May we find us again?