The Unspoken Words

mum my lips, lifted like storm
show me the window and shall be
there to cry

move like cripple dung, shape that
smell foul, not a game to play
but gain to paint

oh! tell me and reveals what is real
nothing comes easy in the dust to play
paddle those canoe, for even the
wind brings dirt to rest

hold on each moment, the scattered
voice murmurs the wind and settles
down to lie...

poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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