Poetry: We Are Men Of Words.

The question is not really “Do I dare disturb the universe?” but rather “Can I?” even if I dare.

We are men of words,
But tell me what my words are worth?
In the land of sickness and squalor,
In the land where time has stopped,
And it’s all yellow,
Tell me what they’re worth.

Tell me how your words can move
Those people from their armchair paralysis.
Please tell me how you can leave your seat.
To come down in the dirt, the pus, the blood, and the gore.
Come down, come down, your high horse is dying.
Come down and survey the ground you’ll crash into
Come down and at least learn to walk
Before your feet bleed.
Come down before you rot in that armchair
Come down and wake me up.

Don’t let me rot, don’t let me die without one last roar,
One last mark in the dirt.
Tell me I will move at least one broken piece of concrete
One puke-stained rag, one plastic cup.
Tell me that I stopped at least someone from bleeding,
Tell me that my time won’t stink of stagnancy.
Wake me up and tell me what my words are worth.

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