When you are full of thoughts that you cannot suppress
Pick a simple pattern from which you cannot digress
Thoughts of the future, the past; long narrow corridors that undermine the art
On the walls of these halls so squalid and dark
They are questions to be answered, there to pick apart
We’re all part of a history rewritten to the convenience of a few,
Adapted by survivors of the wars that passed this knowledge to you
Reading epic stories about men who could part the sea for their people
In shock & awe, we must write our sequel
As we attempt to invade the media
As our own personal promoters in a haze of hysteria
We dig a little deeper, but history seems to repeat like a beat to the same meter
Hoping with our tongues in our cheeks on our letters that may never be read
Billions of words bottled up and thrown into the sea in our heads
Chanting in the street the few not left unsaid;
Our thoughts float like boats down paths marked by high vis wrapped cones,
As our bodies are stoned by those who have lost hope in our dream encrusted boats
But as long as you still float, don’t lose hope,
You could be picked up near the coast when, damaged, filling and sinking almost
You write a letter that lengthens, which floats in a bottle
You swear you will never return home for the fear you will sink to the bottom
Until a gentle wind comes to salvage the broken battered beams of your boat and its holy sail
If someone opened the bottle, they wouldn’t find a letter, inscribed with perfect detail
Instead they would read the words of artists, preaching pastors, farmers, martyrs;
Mothers and fathers of future teachers,
Words of extraordinary seekers of a country for as many speakers and believers
Who are demanding new meters from the drum beaters
Here to become leaders, who are poor feeders & not for the needless because its time to write our sequel,
You don’t have ages, life is just a turning of pages and your fingers will turn them
You are the thinkers and the barbarians that will burn them
It’s simple, this is your time.
AFlatWhite 