Who said poetry is a gift?

Who said it does not arise out of

conviction,

out of

grief,

the purest form of misery

which we have ever tasted?

And which of you,

if I call her name

will follow me into those places

into dark chasms

and caverns

where shadows do not meet the day?

If this is

the moment of decision

why do I stand alone?

Ask me for

the meaning of words

and I will not know

until they are spoken -

ask me about the art -

I will not answer

till the paint brush is dry.

And on the outside

Society still beckons

bragging of her Glory

begging us to join in on

the festivities.

Are we not victims

gazing on

from the comfort of our cages -

mesmerized,

drunk with love,

as if this place

had actually been

offered

to us?

Or shall we change our minds?

Shall we stand up

when the parade goes past

a parade of same same same

and raise our voices

to Defy?

Shall we choose Different

in this sea of Sames?

The crooked way,

the way they mock

the way that is tired

and lonesome?

Shall we abandon

this romance for the bread

in search of water

to quench our thirst?

Shall we chase a thing

so illusive

into the shadows

a ribbon in the dark

hoping for a glint of sunlight

at the end of the road?

Or shall we simply

feast upon Glory

until our brains fester

inside our own skulls?

Shall we fall in line

or shall we

Defy?

I dare to imagine

that both groups will be surprised

by what they find awaiting them

on the other side.

Image removed apocalypse, city, and dark image
text, black and white, and empty image
find the Love within yourself for the courage to defy <3