The Call

This is what attracts us above all:
words
They whisper their beckoning siren chant
and our thoughts answer yearningly
Passionately
We desire our voice to stand alone
against a rush of repeated cliches
“Here there be monsters,” the cowardly warn.
For it is truly a risky business
To be heard is a terrifying prospect
But perhaps worse would be to fade away
So we holler
We hoot and yell
And when our voices fall hoarse we write
Pen, lipstick
Napkin, paper
The materials meen nothing
All that matters
is
that
they
fly
From our lips and are freed
Even if we ourselves remain imprisoned

 

Todays best new poem was written by A. Winder.