The words that flow, electric through wire
that live in the cells of the cerebrum
and the pencils and pens in our hands
write that which dies when uttered
It's a power not held in the mouth
nor in the strength of our bodies
but in the hope that we feel
and the despair, the fear when falling.
We fight a life, shouting and screaming,
Hands thrown in air, our legs flailing
But it's the words written, in calm ink
or graphite that reveals the matters we think.
Drowning, we all are, in this concrete death,
The walls we build that then draw us back,
The letters sent, back lit, LED, but
Nothing meant, nothing felt, hard morphine.
But then this old new tech, rediscovered
Breathes new life into our lives, thank god,
Gives voice, the one I lost, in the circuits,
the pixels and black, hard, block letters.
So I write, about this life,
The one we’re all living, have you heard?
With a voice that’s mine, all mine,
And save the phone bill in return.