Hateful whispers
echo violently through
the walls of this place.
What it once was
was laughter, playful
and rejoicing in the
simple things.
Time has worn down our walls
both imaginary
and literal,
and we sit outside watching
the memories smear across
the windows – midnight oil
long-since gone out.
Our simple truths
are worth far more
than their exquisite lies.
And we know this,
better than anybody,
but we still do nothing;
feeling that our contributions
have little effect
on the world as a whole.
Just think about it,
I say quietly.
Just think about how
lucky we are.
that we don’t have to live
in the darkness,
nor the spotlight,
and can enjoy what little
time we have left
together in our run down house.
But,
you reply sadly.
But we are not
the small grains that slip by.
we know we are great
and the world should know too.
Our dreams are so much more
than the sum of our knowledge.
The world must know us,
love us,
fear us,
in order to understand us.
Why?
I ask, whispering.
Why do they need to know?
They are selfish creatures,
obsessed with themselves,
and only take note of the extraordinary
within their own minds.
They do not care to know
where the rainbow ends,
nor how long a Mother Oak lives;
they don’t feel the thrill
of watching the sun rise
or the moon fall.
Why should we cater to them?
Because,
You say firmly.
Because they are apart of us,
and we apart of them.
And if we cannot share our wonders,
what will we do with them?
Hide them for ourselves?
Away from the universe?
It is not for us to judge
what they can and cannot know.
They are the creators of their own demise,
and we can only make sure
that they live well;
curious, imaginative, creative –
these are the feelings
we should cultivate.
Now we sit still
but our hands are busy.
A leader who feeds his people,
another who kills them.
An artist whose mind reaches deep into our own,
and a poet who mocks him.
It is circular,
I say triumphantly.
As it will always be,
you say wisely.
And once more,
The sun rises.
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Submission Name: Once More
