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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required My pulse quickened As tears streamed down my face I felt my soul race Notes rising from discarded bits Yanked out of plastic bags from decaying pits Skin sun baked and bleeding splits Garbage, hand formed into instruments So that these deaf ears might trace The spectacle of true dignity that poverty can't erase Theirs is a world far removed from manicured lawns and lace Strings and frets Oil cans and pipes Found amongst the baby wipes by people painted in scarlet stripes By society treated like a disease Some how finding music from coins cans and keys Music resonates From a place with few trees Pouring forth from polluted streams People like these sort out opportunities that no one else would ever think to seize There, a young girl takes a tin violin in hand She's transported to a magical land White beaches and sand Now symphonic dreams are hers to command Each chord played feels like possibility A fret held bridge to a different reality She kisses a star Transcends their invisibility Fruit tins and bent cookie sheets An X-ray film to create a drum beat People from around the world Rise to their feet Still the ones at home Don't have enough to eat Let us practice compassion Repeat, repeat! Rise from our seat Think beyond privilege In our land of the elite The ones called "Garbage Pickers" the low of the low Moving in harmony quick and slow What we hear and see Will it cause our hearts grow? Do we feel life's rhythm and flow? For, from what others have discarded they have something to show Winds of change are coming Waters rising Watch listen and see where the notes of change blow! Dedicated to the people of Paraguay who work in the Garbage Dump of Cateura. Check out the documentary "Landfill Harmonic". Not entered in any contest. Written March 9th 2016
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