A Generation Finds Its Voice

Been at it for a few weeks, Scribbles and scratches I keep taking passes, At the same stale work that's been itching, the back of my mind, I'm distracted & frustrated, This is real weak & my patience with myself is truncated, Glance over, troubled by the pile of intellectual rubble, I sit up straight to face the weight of the world, Hunched over the blankest page I've ever seen, A symptom of suspended being, I can't continue this way. Something has to change now, today. The perspiration from my forehead, slick with inspiration, A desert called my motivation is blessed with the rains, From up above it slides into place, brain waves wash me over, I'm tapping and typing, writing and vibrating with the held back excitement, Has the kid come out of retirement? There's something to be said here, Close your eyes for a second and imagine - you can't. I'm electrified by the persistent, driven by the resistance, There's a movement; you can feel it in the way the world rotates, A generation lifts its head and doubles back for a hot sec, And just like the words that were caught in my lungs, What we were thinking but just didn't learn how to say, Strangers from all over; their voices rolling into a thunder, A collection so fierce that threatens to tear space and time asunder, The history books are running out of pages as the future starts to look, A lot shorter when I can see the same concerned look, From men and women I've never met, I hear the collection of voices and it gives a poet back his breath.