I have a war cry and it is burning deep inside
Shall I release it, or at least live knowing that I tried?
I sit with a pen, wondering what words to say
Dare I even try, when I can’t even lift my head to pray?
Why can’t I speak the thoughts that are hurting me?
If they stay inside, I might cease to breathe
“Speak, speak!” In the night voices cry
“But the looks they’ll give…” I weakly reply
What I hear at night is the proof
As I hear my own voice declaring the truth
So with pen in hand, I finally relent
I know to whom this message must be sent
The paper crinkles when the ink flow finally ends
And a hot tear slips out as my prayer begins.
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