Listen Here

Making them secrets, but secretly lying,
where inside myself there is part of me dying. These hidden vestibules of unconquered logic strung from the rafters like an archaic sonnet, just hanging around well after their wanted,
so we learn to accept them into our lives.

Confronting what numbing
has made our lives dull,
anodyne amusements drip down these walls. Covering the floor with a puddle at my feet,
was fun for a while but now I must leave. Couldn’t let other people see
what we keep to ourselves,
the eye of the me.
So I whistle the tune familiar to most,
iambic parameter enclosed
with a penta-metron shape
that takes the world on a mass-suicide ride, away from ever coming face to face
with the deeper part of myself,
“the other side.”

Hard to hear anything over my heart
screaming out for help,
beating on passions door for escape,
secretly can’t face myself
cause all that I know will melt away
before my eyes.
My life is too hectic for that,
rationalized away as a little white lie.
My inner ear is drawn to faint echoes
scribbled in the back of my mind,
I listen as these whispers speak with no breath, these words vibrant and alive. 
So I stop.
Look and listen in depth,
could it be that maybe
I’m talking to the dead?
I must be going nuts,
get out of my head
once and for all and never come back!

Yet the more I denied
these voices inside,
the louder they got
with such strength behind,
I began to hear them
even outside my own head.

It was at that moment I realized,
who the speaker really was.
That was around the time
I had just about given up.
There I was standing in front
of a cloud-covered mirror,
the mist was clearing
and I looked up to this figure
that wasn’t there but here.

So I started to listen
instead of shutting out the sound,
the part of me that life once lost,
now unearthed to share the sun.

Listen to your heart and make love to the music,
it’s there when you’re open,
no need to confuse it.
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Wisdom of the Ancients
Ancient Wisdom in a Modern Era
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Spoken Word Poetry
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