The Wailing

 I wail,
suffering the ways of shame,
embarrassed and broken
by an embrace
so tight
I can't escape.

I wail,
enduring the weeping
and the moaning of those left behind
to carry the load
without companion
to sing the hyms
and the work songs
of those who harvest joyfully
in the golden fields
and the heat
of summer.

Wailing,
I clutch my throat
and cast my voice to the winds.
Take me with hurricane force from this silence
of a prison cell of my own making
so that I might learn to sing.