People say
there are no words.
There are always words.
Sometimes they move
at a frequency too fine
for the ear to register—
a kind of silent screaming,
a whisper loud enough
to rattle bone.
There are always words.
They strike the heart,
cascade through the mind,
detonate in the soul.
And still,
we do not hear them.
We do not listen.
We do not speak.
We gather them instead—
tucking them into the coffers
we carry inside the body,
holding them
until we are ready
to face what they’ve been saying
all along.
There are always words.
Free them.
Speak them.
Hear them.
There are always
words.
© Ron Simpson Jr.
September 5, 2026
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