Spill.

A note lies on a counter, it's laid there for a couple of days

Hasty words of beauty scrawled across it's blue lined page

The edge is tattered, having been torn

From a notebook in which had been scribbled and drawn

'Twas written at speed and torn free in haste

Then into a sugar bowl carefully placed

The leaf's now stained and the ink's now blurred

You'd struggle to distinguish a single word

But he'd not, the one who'd watched those words fade

And now reads instead from the impression they've made

Words never spoken but imparted still

Thirteen of them offering a bittersweet pill

He'd tried hard to cry whenever he'd brewed up

Rereading those words as he'd filled his best cup

Those words, as they'd ebbed and they'd flowed 'cross that page

Those words that once sated his deep, savage rage

Drew him in tight while they pushed all else out

And shone a small light on where once there'd lived doubt

The walls we erect and the fences we build

Are the barriers behind which our futures are killed

Speak and speak and speak some more

Talk, impart, confess, adore

Speak of all things, both the great and the small

Those things that you feel, tell others them all

Open your gob and let the words spill

Don't think, just be honest and keep speaking 'til

The ears of the other, the brother or lover

Or sister or father or offspring or mother

The one to whom all of these words really matter

Hears the truth that dwells deep beneath idle chatter

One day soon he'll tidy up

Maybe even wash his favourite cup

He'll smile one last time as he reads what she wrote

Sigh a deep sigh and crumple the note

That day won't be long, already he's calm

But it can stay there for now, it's doing no harm

J2H.