They are restless, simmering, bubbling, they will come
They are forgotten, buried, snowed under, they will breach the surface , they will come
They are prisoners of time, daily rigours and chores, but they will come
They are burdened with doubt and fear and restraint, the shackles will fall, they will come
Amidst the noise, the chaos, the walls closing in, a tiny clear voice will emerge, they will come
Like the torrential rain, like a searing unstoppable pain
Like a dead even bloody bout where there’s no loss or gain
In an impenetrable wordless darkness where not one shard of light can prick through
My resilient nameless army of words will march, they will come.