by Bennet Gross

Talk is cheap, they say.
Not if you stutter, I say.

Not if each syllable is an abyss to cross,
And every word takes an eternity to utter.
It seems that way,
Eternity I mean.
When what you want to say
Never seems to come out the right way.

Talk is cheap, they say.
Not if you stutter, I say.

I’ve seen too many ruined lives,
Too many dreams unrealized.
And heard the clear laughter
From school days on,
When I opened my mouth
To utter My name,
Only my name.
But all I could do was to stutter.

Talk is cheap, they say.
Not if you stutter, I say.

There is no cure, no magic bullet
That will dissipate, disintegrate
All the fears, the frustrations
And the self-denials that well inside.
Bursting forth in vicious blocks,
Unseemingly shocks
That rock one’s very being to the core.
And like a monstrous earthquake
When measured on the human scale,
Shatters the fragile ego inside
Like insignificant bits of shale.

Talk is cheap, they say.
Not if you stutter, I say.

It costs a lot.
How much, I’ll never forget.
Yet regrets are past,
And what good does it do anyway.
To dwell on what was yesterday.

Instead, I’ve learned to move on,
And to inhibit a house
Filled with hope and understanding
Born of a presence.
That’s been my gateway
To speaking freely.

Listen, just listen,
And you’ll hear it too.
The voice within you,
Cutting through each day’s clutter,
Without, a stutter.
Saying, “Yes, you can”
YES, YOU CAN!”