A song for the poets

Dreams are falling fast
To meet the ground
And shatter

Unseen pieces of wisdom
Showering down
Upon the
Unsuspecting mind

Enlightenment,
Dawns upon
The deadest of nights
Light gifted to the
Blind

Inspiration to paint
The self
To capture the beauty
That we hope
Exists within our eyes

We

Sparkle knowingly
And hold our hearts to our movement,
In the brush strokes
That carefully, we execute

Putting a mood in colors,
For the angry reddish black will
Be her nightmare
And the lilac will be the mother who
Holds her

Paint streaked across our faces,
We Are
the “Indian” warrior,
the Amazonian princess
Fighting to release the
Prisoners within ourselves,
The pieces of soul that haven’t yet seen light
We Are.
We Are!

Let us show you
The self-portraits
That confirm us
And make our pain
Real

Let us show you
The love
And the hurt
And evil within us
Our portraits
Will show you

That immortality exists
And that we are the chosen.
Our thoughts preserved
Our faces remembered

This song is for the poets.

(this is an idea that i've mentioned in another poem. it was always my intention to expand)