Thursday, 29 August 2013


Too often, held back
By a sense of trepidation,
As if worried to offend
That speaking one's mind is somehow misbegotten, rude
So you hold it all inside

And the moment passes, as all such moments do
And you're left with that linger of doubt

What if you could have, in that second
Transcended that stumbling point, given air
To thoughts you considered better left unsaid?
Free from raging fires, of damnation
Would the truth set you free?
Or would the gulf, that cold No Man's Land,
Cause an open wound between you and me?