I hear voices
Not of angels but of men
Not of saints but of poets
Not of poets with us
But those gone
I heard Coleridge
As I cross the bridge
The divide between bards
And teething brats
I hear Kipling
When sleeping
When awake
I hear Blake
Never written
Lores, long forgotten
Were told to me in depth
In fear I caught my breath
As I hear from silence
From the hush and darkness
Of sleepless night
I became a knight
Named for an errand
A mission to herald
Like the muezzin call
The pious prayer
These voices call
My pen and I to paper
Bleed my pen
Bleed, tell the children
Life is a thing they do not know
Tell the adults they cannot know
What life is
Tell them
They cannot win always
That life is for living
And not racing
Spew my pen
Tell the history of future
Weave a new culture
With music, new fashion
Sealed with a new vision.
