Your Sentence of Non-Guilt by Nina Lewis

I am not a silent poet

The artist was silenced when his tongue was taken

but his eyes worked the words into the earth

around his feet,

his arms signed and gestured, so they

tugged them behind his back and knotted

rough rope and iron chain, held them in place.

It wasn’t his limbs reflecting this story

still his thoughts stick out and speak.

He musters strength to stand,

they take his feet from under him,

punch his guts black and kick the ideas

from the nest in his head.

In darkness, with swollen eyes and mute lips

he stays still,

his brain keeps working,

whirling through the poetry of his heart.

He knows even after hearts are taken

words bleed out,

leak poetry into the lives of thousands

an army strong.

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