cymbals

I am a pair of
steely, cold
cymbals:

poised to crash
into crescendo.

poised to puncture
stale silence with
reverberating cadence.

poised to liberate
these offensive fears
you have stifled with
societal, pious objections.

I am pair of
second-chair
cymbals
rising from the
scaffolds of a
new generation:

poised to settle
score for years of
quivering quiet
and stilled reservations.

poised to crush
the salty pillars of your
sanctimonious trappings.

I am a mounting implementof voice.