I wrote a poem that sings And it took me 3779 keystrokes When I rewrote the whole damn thing. And I want you to read it out loud in front of me, hungry, But not too fast, because dwelling in the past words, Last I heard, is a practice worth practicing Only if you think you know what I mean When I end my lines with a rhyme That hums through your ear drums forever. You might be right. Because I've never been this close to exposing my notes to strangers Strangled by the ignorance of self motivated silence Like violins with the strings cut off and the most electrifying musicians Holding nothing but a piece of wood in their hands. Do this for me. Take an eight and a half by eleven inch note card And for five minutes a day, just five minutes this way, Try to stay away from those infomercials, commercials, Telling you they're selling you something you require to flourish And instead become nourished with the sight of black, ballpoint confessions Impressing into your mind some time in your life When you felt like telling me you hate the way we are When we tell each other we love one another And behave in the complete opposite direction. This is encouragement. This is a vehement testament to the dissent that rules our lives And thrives behind the impetus of words because I've heard So many people spitting at the images they imagine ought to be better If not better presented on the nightly news And they resent their so-called consent to the existence They never had a voice in. If you want to be a leader, reading to knee high humans About the world they are going to inherit Without scaring them too much Or in such a way that they ignore the errors of yesterday And send friends to pile dirt upon the names of Famed forefathers defiled in their graves, Or saving up their last days to see the free tongues of their kin Swallow hollow promises without questioning the bent intentions Of those with pens big enough to write on the sides of skyscrapers, Scraping layers of nonsense from our heads And pushing the void between you and me Instead of investing resources in the salvation of the archaic idea of " us." Then stand up when you feel like sitting down. I feel this way, anyway. I believe in the lungs you couldn't live without. And if you doubt the impact you can have on the world you see, Take five steps forward and try to act like you've been there before. Once more, I want you to move your feet, Walk out your front door And if the sun is shining, fine, but if it's not that hot And you can't stand the cold, Tough luck, get bold. Start fleeing from the standstill you still find comfort in And run until your heartbeat flutters in tune with the moonbeams In and out of the soft shadows and into the light. That's right, I want you to gallop for a whole damn day, a week if you have to And if after all that pulse-pounding pressure gets to your head, and if you're not dead, Take a look at the trail of dust behind you and find what must be your dreams Trying to catch up because they are no longer ahead of you, But mingling with the particles of a present you've outdone By running into the future at full force, Breaking the barrier that keeps reality from entering your blood stream. Take a breath, take a minute. Stop and look at the very real, how does this moment feel? Now write about everything, and if you prefer, then sing. Choose how many mistakes you wish to erase, And how many faces it takes to tell a story about the life you make, But for every stroke and each letter remember that you're better off Than one hundred percent of the unwritten world hurtling by your head. Now rewrite the whole damn thing.