chronicles of the innocent

I was with you
when we first discovered
the volume of our voices.
Mine, a decibel above yours
as we screamed into the night.
We're not even the breath of the wind!
you said,
and we laughed
at the millions of vocal casualties
murders we'd committed
because our choice of communiqué
ranks far less common
than words.
But we're fine,
because we tighten our belts
cuff up our pants
and splash in puddles.
We're fine we say
though we're not
saying
wonderful.
Hallelujah, it's raining!
And we smile beneath our breath
I'll bet you never heard
angels screaming laughter.
And we can cry in total silence,
gasping between laughing fits and running.
They can clip our wings
steal our voices
but no difference because
we will pen down
the chronicles
of our innocence
anyway.