All Clear

Locked and loaded, thumb on clasp
Waiting for the explosion, this is the final
Task set forwards to me by the prophets,
The grenade sits comfortably in my hands
Through way streets and daylight, invisible
To all who pass, just another task, do not let go,
I’ve been holding on so long I don’t realise the
Weight anymore, my hand cramping, sore has
Been removed from my vocabulary, and daily pain
Turns to weekly gain once the time has passed by,

Strangers smile weakly and jostling elbows cannot
Sway my hold, four years old to the day, this ugly
Baby birthed inside of me now held like a robin, light
And delicate in my hands, no one sees it because no
One asks the right questions, and tentatively I go through
The plan once more in my head, to avoid needless causalities
To the public, one handed with trembling force I cut the ropes
And tendrils fall neatly to the floors and I am alone in low lit
Alleyways, and finally I lift my thumb and wait for the oncoming
Boom but I’ve spoken too soon and the grenade falls, clanks,
Clatters and remains shatterproof, and a realisation resounds

The things that kill us don’t make a sound


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