On Holding My Tongue (Again)

Will there still be time for talking
When I am not afraid?
When my voice is no more meek or fraught
And my shame is unlade?

Will I still have breath for speaking
When worrying is past?
When I’m done fearing how I’m thought
Or how my thoughts are cast?

Will I still have words worth saying
When I worry not what’s said?
I suppose it really matters naught–
I shan’t speak when I’m dead.

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