I crave for my voice

I crave for my voice to leave
heavy fingertips to the wind,
to leave bruises to the air,
to cling to the sky and scorch its every corner,
refusing to be drawn back
to the bower,
to the perishable bower of my mind.
I crave for my voice to cloak
the emptiness of the plain
so that I cannot melt
into its white, anonymous grasp.
I crave for my voice to embrace
the world
with soothing rays of whispers,
to ring the echo of all shadows
cast upon the earth’s brow.
I crave for my voice to crash into temples
and hum a song of remembrance
just as a child hums in the dark
to ward off the nightmarish unknown.
I would then crave for its mellow splinters
to hide beyond the altar curtain
and weave a nest of time
from threads of ringing shadows.