We are the poets weaving reality from fragile threads
Creating intricate quilts out of tears shed by the world
The hallowed hearts sheltering the innocent boys and girls
Sprinkled dust of whole dreams now shattered and broken
Feel the lump in your throat, that's the inner truths
Trying to escape from the cage of foolish deceptions
We are the waves of much needed change and chance
That beat against the thick skulls of blind followers
We are bright suns, and we chase away darkened clouds
That shiver when we release such fragile trailing thoughts
That ripple in time caused by the stones we have cast
We are high on the fumes of the unknown eternity
Cry or laugh- despair or repair- destroy or create
A mosaic of beautiful faces created from man's hate
Writing it better than you have ever felt it or seen it
We are the poets cut loose from our puppet strings
Abstract artists sketching circles that end where they begin
Carving sculptures of change from mortal marble blocks
We are deep rooted trees, that dance with hurricanes
Open hands catching comets and turning them to crystal
That shine from our eyes reflecting respectful wonder
As we try and satisfy the infernoes of never-ending hunger
Monday, September 10, 2007
We Are...
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4 comments:
Your writing is... I feel exceptionally humble.
Hello :D Send me an email @ theangrybarcode@gmail.com and I can send you out questions for the interview.
Your poem is perfect, a perfect description of that nagging, eating, gnawing feeling of bug under the skin that drive you write, to draw to cry or (hopefully less often) to break things. Thanks for being out here.
Oops should be theangrybarcode@yahoo.com
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