All Is Continuity

We All Wait Attentively

Write.

Write your thoughts,
young man. To say
what you wish you
could. What someone
you know well needs
to hear. Something
you wish to say.
A philosophy to
change the world.
That the poor might
be made rich and the
rich might be made
content.

Take your pen,
young man, and
write until the ink
runs dry. You need
to speak as your
voice lends itself
to silence a fair amount
too much. Let people
hate you, let folk
love you. The great
thinkers, the lofty
debaters, the crooked
politicians, let them hear
your voice.

Speak.

Stories made up in
an instant. Something
new. Something exciting.
Something dramatic.
Where lovers love anew.
Of lands near and far.
Where paupers live
paupers’ lives and princes
only wish. And kings,
like Charlemagne,
worry not of who
might succeed. Give us
stories with blue skies
and open fields, cities
of buildings made by
the gods of the Earth,
buildings impervious
to destruction.

Tell.

Of times before the twins
fell. When they stood tall.
When cities were safe. And
folk knew their neighbors
and the corner store charged
but a nickel for a stick of gum.

Do you have anything
to say of worth? Then tell
a world yearning to hear.
Tell a world full of misery
something, anything. Really,
you must have something
to say.

We all wait, attentively.