The Color of My Soul

You breathe in whispers
and the scent of your skin
is out of reach
but your smile begs the question
what are you made of?
the posthumous question
for your soul invites
let me in
but you waken in the shadows
upon your chest, your hands are held
too afraid
too afraid
to let anyone in
and you saunter quietly
while no one is the wiser
hidden in the boxes
of your own construction
yet, listen – can you hear it?
the sound of your voice calling
it whispers so no one else can hear
deep inside you know the answer
you have a voice
you have a voice
and yes, you must be heard
speak and the world will fall silent
hands raised to mouths in surprise
for no one yet knows
the color of your soul.

(c) Sumyanna 2016

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