a kind of subversion

there is a point when we must stretch our reach
not because fruit are hanging from the tree
but simply for the sake of what we see
within our hearts for what we have to teach
this is the point of saying without much speech
just what we mean about what we must be
the words themselves enact our being free
and take us in one moment past the breach
the silence stretches till we cannot bear
the weight of all the motions we still feel
and step by step this breath turns into time
so many seconds counted out of fear
the human body seems made out of steel
and every hour turns into the prime
we name ourselves the victims of this crime
but knowing nothing have no sense of care
and are not anxious yet to make the deal
while on the sidelines all the crowd must stare
their voices roaring out in harsh appeal
demanding that the normal be sublime
this is the end of what we would not speak
the strong must bow at last to us the weak