Speak to me. Tell me that I am not alone.
In my voice only have I searched for truth.
Am I not still breathing. Awake. Flesh and bone.
Speak to me. Though you find me deaf as a stone,
help me to find the lonely, bloody son of Ruth,
who speaks to hearing ears that they are not alone.
Do you find me tragic, scarred, but now atoned;
atoned, yet now so old and of such little use.
But am I not breathing, living flesh and bone.
Take me to the victim sealed behind a stone.
I ran from him. The voiceless. The accused.
Speak to me. Sing, or else I stand alone.
I tried to kill myself with pills, so white they shone,
longing for words final as the hangmans noose.
Instead words, breathing, made flesh a heart of stone.
You, Pio, of one breath with beauty, renown
Voice of fire speaking goodness, breathing truth,
Will you speak to me, the naked and alone.
Breathe into me, breathing flesh upon dry bones.
Louis Templeman
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