I am but a voice, a silent word,
written on paper, seen and not heard,
an echo of heart to touch your soul,
sweet pangs of sorrow's bitter control.

I am but a voice, woe of the world,
wintry wind-whips of a flag unfurled,
hidden chambers that rumble with sound,
the mournful notes of leaves on the ground.

I am but a voice, winter's cold kiss,
dwindling dew-drops faint tinged with bliss,
dust of the earth scattered to the sea,
the voice of the world, this voice is me.

I am but a voice, dancing the dim,
unbridled dispersion in a hymn,
the flower of love withered and gray,
quick caught in the stronghold of dismay.

I am but a voice, but known by all,
the vine of silence against the wall.
I am poured in dark wine, bitter-sweet,
to desirous lips that seek retreat.

I am but a voice, a gray-haired sage.
I live and learn through every age;
and through all times, the words still ring true,
the voice speaks the heart inside of you.

Linda Marie Van Tassell

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-am-but-a-voice/