Just listening

Where are the words I want to say?
Those eloquent, grace-filled, healing words?
I can't find them; they've run away,
afraid they'll be the wrong ones
that they'll twist and make it about me,
when it's not.

Where are the words I want to say?
If I could I'd scoop them out of my chest
where I feel them heavy like a lump of clay
and smooth them like a balm
on the stings of the world.
But I can't hear them -
they're stuttering with anger,
a fury that renders them
silent and incomprehensible.

Where are the words I want to say?
Words of comfort, conviction and courage?
They're busy lamenting
or hiding in shame
or stunned in confusion
or all of that and more

Wherever they are, they refuse to line up,
to parade by as if to portray me
as someone who knows what to say.
I can't find the words; they've left me
All I can do now
is feel them,
and weep