Feather In My Hand, Ink In My Heart.

Trickling over my mind Came scampering the question This dilemma of a heart Come running into my embrace Stricken with fright It asked me Father, why do we write And so I dipped my feather in the darkness of my mind And brought forth my answer I wrote of fear and the love that comes at a dreadful cost Of meaning and of the fight for knowledge I wrote for voices unheard I cried for emotions long forgotten And the answer came to me as the tears wrote their own tale Painted in pain was the image of a long forgotten glory Of emotions left unstirred Come to see what these words have conspired Come to see how these words have called them from their sleep To ensue in them an undaunted hunger Well my dear son Here comes my answer to you I write not for you Nor for me I write for what is within you What has bubbled forth within me I write to stir the masses Unchained, unhindered Willful subjects of our being They huddle in wait The towering limestones of their cave grow eon by eon As they rot away, moment by moment I write for them We write for the grim The unnoticed prestige We write for what you have neglected to see To bring it forth before your eyes To fix your head with an iron collar To make you a slave of our direction We write to be your masters, when you need one most We write to fix your gaze on what you have never lost We write to drag forth from the depths of your inky heart We are the harbingers of emotion Be it hate or lust The unseen veil of ignorance, or to shatter the blinding globe of pride We are the harbingers of sight With our binding collars, our guiding feathers, dripping the black sweat of our labored toil You will come to see What has not been seen before We are Fathers of a relationship sown by words, sealed by the dawning of the sun, the dawning of realization We are Your feathers, to your wings or to your ink And feathers will flutter Bearing you into the frigid embrace of the skies And when the winds will them no more We will descend upon the ground And speak to the earth as we are reclaimed in its rough embrace We will write to the trees, when we cannot write to the birds, the sun, and the sky And through the trees we will see the stars And to them we will write about the shade Harbingers indeed. © Samir Georges 2010 Edited for Deb's Free Verse Contest on why we write.