The Lost Voice

M. Fennell

1986

Note: this is an older poem, early in my life, during difficult times and a bit bitter. Still, many people have told me that they like the poem and have felt this way at one time or another.

 

The Lost Voice:

Repeatedly misclassified
Varying opinions as to my breed
Didn’t fit onto any of their pretty charts
So they treated me as a weed

Like a virus that must not replicate
I was stifled; separated, quarantined, confined
Yes, sheep can locate their friends easily
But eagles can be found only one at a time

The hunted becomes the hunter
Not of choice, but of will to survive
I slash out at everything, everyone
Those that bleed I know are alive

If you know where I’m coming from
Then my message is perfectly clear
Such beautiful songs I might have sung
But no one knows that I’m here