I speak in harmonies

I’m proud of the way I talk;
Each word handcrafted by generations before me,
Carved from great stone, and shaved of splint edges.
Each flow stems from rhythm,
Each tone, mother’s tongue.
I am but one square in a quilt,
Stretching far beyond the horizon
And stitched through long-lost hometowns.
My voice booms as it blooms,
Cracking like thunder under veiled skies.
The power I push through the pipes in my throat;
A gift from my father, sewn through his winter coat.
Learned to twist and to turn, weaving my fact and my !ction,
From sandbox friends on the bench before the worlds that we slipped in.
Practiced twirling my letters and grouping them well
For the teachers who told me I had stories to tell.
Here is my voice as I both whisper and yell,
I shall promise to lend but never to tell.
Here is my voice as I both whisper and yell,
I shall promise to lend but never to sell.