Each line a little story, a demonstration of truth,
a living proof of action, tied together by their roots.
Grab people and shake them to share their
creative minds oppressed by harsh realities
stressed by everyday brutalities defined best
by the art of a line.
Meter shoots the length, verse employs the strength
of the pace to emphasize the beat of breaks,
until you realize, just as sure as it wasn't put here in pencil,
nothing put here was accidental.
As you recite the line,
"So visual, so sure to steal your soul better than a video rental,"
it hits you- BAM.
In one sweet instant, you realize
poetry will never die,
it gives skeletal shape to what's inside,
brings dead ideas alive,
so long as they don't go ignored or unexplored.
Am I bored? Are you bored?
Shouldn't we be the contrary?
Are we blind to the world we see?
So much beauty in the senses,
we should be inspired or be restless.
Do we need another aggressive assertion
onto our consciousness until it's haunting us
to redirect our attention to daily conventions?
Please, please, please,
fellow reader, writer, friend,
through spoken or writen word,
keep your voice meant to be heard.
Observe and question without end.
Don't ignore at your own expense
for some placebo self-defense.
Don't commence that fear or self-doubt
or sit and pout about doing what you have left to do.
Afterall, who knew it was so hard
to just be a you?
Life is both, too long and too short,
to close these doors we've never knocked on before.