I can speak, but my silence is louder: A poem 

There can be much beauty in words 

But we know the bliss of silence as well 

The fortress of unspoken virtue 

that bears the burden of undeserved shame 

is not the fiefdom of your alleged Saints (Saint Paul?) 

And I know my crosses are no crucifixes 

That I have never damned hell 

because there is so much of a parody 

in those claims of so-called holy, but illegitimate rapine 

And where lies the good and where lies the bad? 

I spied the lie 

And I swore I’d never die with it 

Yes, evil has the power to violate my wishes 

to poison my aspirations, so I should abandon them  

But can it take away my faith? 

Can it ever waylay fate? 

And I know that my convictions are my kith and kin 

and all that is dear to me 

No power can shake me 

even if I were an old dying tree 

I have words that are beautiful and light as feathers 

but the violence of the silence of my action is telling  

And you, my foes, can imagine the woes 

that will come knocking at your doors!