Awoke with a reverence for the morning
For possibility, for life in its holographic beauty,
The gorgeously fluid parameters of experience.
Today, I will be.
Today, I will flourish.
Today, I will push the limits of what I know and peel back the layers of understanding that cushion my view of existence.
There are fires burning close.
And while the sirens that frequent my ears continue to rip through the streets unchallenged, the alarms sounding in my heart are duly noted.
It may be unsafe to believe in our egocentric system of golden-bellied capitalists, but I refuse to extinguish the hope in my common peoples’ ability.
Even if they smolder, the modest man and woman still smoke.
Our message remains alive in the silhouette of our struggle-
-in the upward twirling of our passion
-in the addiction to the impulse to create, to share, to breathe our art form and inhale it with a junkie’s lust.
We, the artists, are poor and small.
We, the creators, are worn thing from too many jobs.
We, the ground-shakers, wear sore feet from daily stomping.
But we, the deliverers, will not stop.
For, this age is so burdened with pathetic apathy.
The kids are married to technological distractions, attached to miniature disasters that devour their creativity, which gnaw in subtle ways at their life force and replace it with a subsonic hum of anxious emptiness.
This indefinite continued progress of existence may showcase a purposeless war-
selfish in its goal to encourage death in exchange for “freedom”,
false in its promise for “change” or “hope”-
But our lives will not be discarded. Our vision is not detritus.
We, the producers, will continue to write, persist with our melodic salvations, and carry on in those hopefuls designs embodied in paint, graphite and clay.
We wake up in the morning under the empyrean chance of something better.
And we fight for that reality with an enduring ardor.