Why I write

That is the question isn’t it?

Why do rhymes and songs of verbs and the paintings of words consume my spirit?

To be the sustenance of my soul and the beatings of my heart?

As my tears cry in poetry

And my fears sung through melody

Can I tell you my story?

Set your eyes upon the mountain tops

And let your heart search the depths of the valleys

In all the four corners of the earth and in all the cities

What do you see?

There is a girl hiding alone in darkness

A boy whose self-identity deems worthless

A woman running from her past

A man fearing his future to not last

Children uncared for

People caught in the downpour

Where is their voice?

Crying out to be heard in the wilderness

This is a broken generation

We all need salvation

To bind our hearts together as one

And to hear our songs well sung

We sing of love

We sing of hope

We sing of heartache, dreams, and fears

We sing our prayers up and above

And yet, do we even know?

Can we even hear?

Do we listen?

To our sisters and our brothers

As their stories shatter and their hearts cave in?

As their foes rise against them in fury

And the chaos is more than they can bury?

Wake up, and listen to these words

I write

So that we all can be heard