the old crow welcomes winter
i change not hill
not tree
to other rules
the next step’s
the liquid fall
are deeper
tales like a still sea
whispering we are
unobvious & dead ships sail
to other songs
i keep the notes
close & everything’s a little
harder
a little
more tired
just asking
what it’s like to be human
there are places
where the world seeps through
where monsters
gather
like shells
on empty beaches holes
in the sky
are
singular response
from all my voices
a cold wind tonight
© Reuben Woolley
When I write of abuse and suffering, I write for the silenced and for the unvoiced. There is nowhere poetry cannot go. —Reuben Woolley
This poem will also appear on The Woven Tale Press website as part of a feature on Activist-Poets on Monday, April 25, 2016.
View guest contributor Rueben Woolley’s bio HERE