The words are stuck
With the constipation
Of not too little
But too much.
The circuits of my nerves
Are firing…
Too many
To see
Too many
To hear
And I choke
On the words,
I can't even tell
If I am drowning…
Or I need to vomit.
I want to scream
And there is a gurgle.
Screaming does nothing
In a room full of the deaf
Waving does nothing
In a room full of Sleepers,
So what hope have I
But you?
You who can read
Between the lines,
You who can hear
What isn't said,
As loudly as if
It were shouted
From the Mountaintop.
You who are
Well read
And open-minded
Must be more
Than you have been…
Because the world
Is not as we would like,
So we must be more
Than the fears
Of the pessimists.
We must be more
Than what is seen
By the realist.
We must become
What we dare
To dream.
