Voice

How are you, now that you’ve won,
I believe I’ve lost the right,
To ask that of you now,
Now that you’re done.

There’s an outpouring,
Feelings tweeted, shock liked,
For now that you’re done,
We’re busy emotion whoring.

The very emotions when,
In boyhood years were ripe,
Found a voice in you,
And the songs of your kin.

The voice flows still,
From vibrating pistons hollow,
Screaming, seeking a reason,
And disavowing silence until.

But the songs will run out,
The rhythm will repeat itself,
The beats all too familiar,
Will my faith fill with doubt.

What should I do?
To fill this void you’ve left,
Should I take the mic?
And pretend that I’m you?

That’s a crazy thought,
In the insanity of absence,
One that’s left me bereft,
Of the one voice that I’d got.

A voice that didn’t shudder,
To talk about the angst,
The rage, the madness,
And words most dare not utter.

To you, your life,
I’ll not say that I know,
What it took for it to be so,
What struggle, what invisible strife.

But you were there for me,
At times I needed you the most,
In pain, hurt, or joy unbound,
And the same I wanted to be.

So, you voiced my wrath, my friend,
I hope one can voice yours,
For it does matter, as now,
It all comes back to me, in the end