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The Silent



I have no use for those who don't speak.
Those who don't won't or can't.

What's wrong with them?

I feel sick when I think
of those who disappear in silence.
But I have no urge to speak for them.

I can speak only what I know.

Or imagine I know. Or imagine.
So I don't. Or won't. Or can't.

What's wrong with me?

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.