In a low and fragile whisper

I beg for water,

To make a meal out of scraps

But my calls melt away

.

Too hoarse  

I scream for a moment’s relief

Wound tight in a snare

Made simmering in silence

.

Speak twice

Speak thrice

An ill heart will resound

In the rolling thunder

Of a fatherly chorus

.

But my anger falls short  

Lodged in layers of skin,

A cold and nagging pain,

Pleading day after day