Wallflower

Wallflower:
A Poem

Would that I be a dull grey;
The shade of a cinderblock wall,
Overlooking the height of day.
Passed as all the facades fall.

Would that I be a modest mute;
A silent ear without a mouth—
Gesticulating like yeast and fruit,
Or raising flours in water’s trough.

Would that I be, above all, still;
A motionless mind and heart in wait
For a Word more real than real;
For a silence bearing peace’s weight.

If my words are ever worthy to be spoken, let them instead be read.
If you mistakenly call this sinner a saint, don’t tell me until I am dead.

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