Yoked in Silence

Still,

She sits,

Hands curled,

clawed fists by thigh’s side

Wrinkled brow drawn,

Consternation writ large,

Upon subtle tan lined crown

Weights of world monetization down

Bills paid, scrambled scratching,

Paid, tellers in banks cashing

What once was paper currency

Now digital gig work dashing, hopes

Piled high, like granite mountains,

Shoulders bowed in oppression,

Muse quiet, hidden in joy’s silence

Verse’s sadness mingled with depression

Tears hallmark trailing tracks,

Invisible to masses down faced facts

Spaces shared in small, placed traces

Yoked, trained spirit strained and broken tracts

Calling, crying, and praying

Asking the Father to save

From Apollyon’s smoked pillared pyre

And soldiers gathered neath holed abyss, ways dire

If my words speak to your silence,
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This piece is part of my book The Seven Thunders.

Available now on Amazon — and free with Kindle Unlimited.

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