If you hold a seashell
Against your ear,
You will hear a tic-toc
Within the knock of your own
Heart counting down by
Each beat being
Unfathomably fainter; you
Must
Write
Now.
Write for your life.
Silence is sin. Blank pages and
Clean walls around
The dwellings of your poetic
Powers; pure
Blasphemy.
Write, poet. Write for your life.
Counter every grain
Of sand passing, with
Words.
Write prose on the wind with
Your fingers to be carried into
The Archives of All. Write as if
Your death depends
On it. Express the beauty of
Our common insignificance,
And how we are still
Held above
Angels.
Write for your lives, flee
From slumber; awake.
There's lucidity here, unlike
Any seen through the haze of a
Dreamer's eyes.
You are the voice of the
Human Race, the last line of
Defence against
Robot lives
In a cold
Machine.
Write for our lives.
Write for your lives.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
If you hold a seashell
Against your ear,
You will hear a tic-toc
Within the knock of your own
Heart counting down by
Each beat being
Unfathomably fainter; you
Must
Write
Now.
Write for your life.
Silence is sin. Blank pages and
Clean walls around
The dwellings of your poetic
Powers; pure
Blasphemy.
Write, poet. Write for your life.
Counter every grain
Of sand passing, with
Words.
Write prose on the wind with
Your fingers to be carried into
The Archives of All. Write as if
Your death depends
On it. Express the beauty of
Our common insignificance,
And how we are still
Held above
Angels.
Write for your lives, flee
From slumber; awake.
There's lucidity here, unlike
Any seen through the haze of a
Dreamer's eyes.
You are the voice of the
Human Race, the last line of
Defence against
Robot lives
In a cold
Machine.
Write for our lives.
Write for your lives.
