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.