Where is my voice?
The words that used to soar
Glib butterflies gliding from my mouth,
The syllables that would pour
At will, like honey or like acid
From my tongue, they form no more –
Where is my voice?

Where has it gone?
Is there no link
With that part of my brain where ideas grow?
No gap or chink
Through which my thoughts can flow?
Or can it shrink?
Where is my voice?

Or am I mute
And inarticulate
Because my mind no longer has the means
Of thought that can relate
To speech? Have I no more to say,
And hence the spate
Has dried up at the source?
Where is my voice?

2 thoughts on “Aphasia

  1. It is 4am and I wonder where my voice is too. But let me say the photo you selected is truly wonderful for this piece. I want to finish my novel this summer.

    • Thank you, Susanne – it’s in a small town in Brittany. Keeping my fingers crossed for you – and looking forward to reading the published book.

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