Pain has a voice.
I hear it in the desperate Poor Orphan Boy begging for alms outside my window, the splash of rain lashes on his body like the maps leading to someplace no one wants to go.
Pain has a voice.
I hear it in Frankie's tone as she tells me through tearful sobs that her fiance has abandoned her and their baby
because he was born autistic.
Pain has a voice.
It speaks an Octave higher than the preacher who's talking to me.
I try not to look at his worn shoes or the reddish brown collar of his black shirt.
Its been thirty minutes but I don't stop him, he seems to be enjoying this.
Pain has a voice .
I heard it speak as i listened to my girlfriends deepest secrets and swore i'd take them to my grave.
Pain has a voice and I wonder if it can be heard through my friendly smiles and re-assuring hugs.
Pain has a voice and it screams through our gestures, our words and even our laughter.
Pain has a voice... but aren't we all tired...