In the planet called earth,
Humans believe that the staff we carry lies in the sight we behold and the voices we heed to.
We mount to the top, on the hills we will sit,
Hoping as the sight is clearer like a babe on the giants' shoulder,
So will the voices we will hear be audible to our very existence.
In this realm we forged ourselves from minion voices,
Setting our pace in line with our thoughts believing it's not the right voices,
We sojourn to a place of low light and no voices,
Thinking in the solace of our own silence,
Lies the true voices.
With the aids we've added, the flickering voices came again despite the hills we've mounted like a palm wine tapper,
The trouble of the physical that we behold emerge as our thoughts escape into the world beyond,
Our memories flipped through as confusion breeds our fake smiles and our true tears.
We set the pace on as we know that only the strong survives,
Believing what is that will be will surely be,
As we anticipate for a better voices that suit our state,
So our skin lingers for a better touch, a place of succor,
Where our dreams can become our reality,
And the realities of life can elude us of our true existence.
But then as a life that we have,
Everyone speaks volumes
But we need to determine who speaks into our lives,
For not all should have a say in our lives,
But all voices connote a meaning in our lives.
©TEE-THOMAS (Fearless Lines)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem