to that still point
where there was no argument,
where the raging anguish
that roared at the surface
was unheard,
where the tumbling waves above
could only relay
a small tremor,
just at your heel
I felt like instead
I was just shouting
against the din,
so I considered:
my tiny voice
will never be
the still small one
that moves the mountains
but you have a voice within
and it is speaking.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 5, 2017
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