There is something in my heart
And won’t leave
What began as an ache
Easy to ignore
Begins to beat with my pulse
Stronger with each breath
And it feels like my heart is a drum
A rap a riot a tattoo a fistfight
A blade with nothing to sink into
Oh heart oh heart
Your pain is not to be ignored
Do not bury it away
Take your ribcage full of hurt
And plant it in the soft soil
And oh heart I see the bruise where you beat
But have one breath of patience
And the pain
Oh the pain you planted
Has been held long enough
In handfuls of good earth
Oh my heart
You have been hiding all along
In a field of flowers
And here oh heart
It does not hurt
I had forgotten about the heads
Of the clouds.
— They wear crowns in their unbrushed hair,
Did you know? —
I did not remember.
Though I knew as a child, it seems.
How good it is to see them again.
For I had become far too accustomed
To their murky ankles.
She is the meaning of strong.
My mold, my maker —
And yet she does not make me her.
Forged of her fire,
I wear her eyes filled with flowers and flame;
I stand on the opposite side of her coin.
We differ, are our own;
See same sights in unlike hues,
Our differing views,
But still — the stuff of our hearts is the same.
Now is the time for symphonies,
For sounds so complete in beauty and light
That tears and prayers can be heard in one note.
Sing until your voice breaks, and keep singing,
Even when it hurts and no one likes your words.
Because you are important, and so am I,
And our voices are like violins,
Like novels, drums, and birds,
Let us fill the air with stereophonic love.
Let us make the world safer than it is now,
And let us do so with peace.
Because we are the makers and the stars are our audience,
Blinking down on us and sending love notes in the night,
And the moon, like a mother,
Sends out light in the dark so we can continue to write,
To paint our dreams on the sidewalks and our sleeves.
Because now is the time for painting.
Use the brightest shades and as many colors as you can create,
Soft and wild brushstrokes, wide sweeps of your hands
Across surfaces that once were blank, were empty.
Paint flowers on your face and smile until the sun comes back.
And look up. Remember that the stars are with us.
Look forward. Even in the night there is the moon.
And start building. Use what you have.
Use love, use peace.
Sketch the future on scrap paper,
Outline the architecture of the next generation
Where there will be no hatred,
©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.