We are not the voices of nations,
but of people. Our people.
The people of uncensored thought
and true word and strong speech.
The candid lines from our pens
are the last line of defence between
our hopelessly self-destructive people
and themselves. Our people, the poets;
the dreamers and idealists and romantics.
The people who press on through hardship
and disappointment and pain and heartbreak
and discrimination and depression and controversy.
The guiding light from the shadows.
The bucket to the well, and the rope
to bring the water to the thirsty masses.
We are the people of poems,
the people of dreams,
the people of song.
We are the people
of past, present, and future.
We,
The People,
The Poets.

h.f.m.