I’m hearing the words that come out of you.
I feel the emotional apparel they ware.
I am wondering from where deep within
do they, those words, gather this strength
into a show of force in your stampede of expression.
What internal neighborhood gives mood this rise?
What convictions have been laid bare for this call?
How conclusions arose from their steep
in graves to haunt into existence
a pronouncement that this utters,
so soulfully towering,
disguised behind the topic at hand
that is now presented as hostage-remains
to what deeper truth must eventually prevail.
I don’t really need to understand
as if to engage towards a response
as much as I need to decipher these means
and decode the deeply essential disregarded message.
For what does this language really stand for,
given a pretext of fear, hurt, antipathy and resentment
as if harmed beyond recovery still presents?
There is a festering within this carriage that remains
for some sense of retrieval as if an eye for an eye.
Not detailed by an exactness towards account
as much as a grieving revolt in reaction, then surfacing.
Expelled from a welling within
in its own brandished anguish,
recounting lessons and circumstance unevenly,
presented as overburdened tonal-delivery,
not literal to topic discussed
but as hallowed tonal sound,
to prevail as deliverance
as if the underworld of within
could never speak it straight out, straight away.
I’m hearing you,
with a reverence beyond a need for understanding.
I am hearing you.
I have no need for circumstance
and the differences of our personal experience
to separate us from right here, right now.
I am hearing you as an environment of compassion.
I have no need to conclude or console from what is.
It has its own existence and lives on.
I am here, in this moment, as it all appears to be.
Listening, for me, has never before had this quality
of empathetic intimacy without further claims.
We, you and I, are just here.
And I am hearing you,
with sounding board of soul . . .