Somewhere a poet is crying because he can
I’ve traveled to many places in this world without leaving the destination of my front window. There are days I sit and allow my mind to explore and reach out in a transpiration of thought. I search for new views and interpretations in a world where everyone is not free. Because somewhere a poet is writing because he can but there is somewhere in this world that expression is hidden and has to remain hidden because it may be too effective and make a difference. I couldn’t imagine if that was me; I couldn’t imagine if my heart and the energy of my mind had to remain silent. I couldn’t imagine not being able to open my soul and cry in new structures of ink on nights like tonight; these kinds of nights where poets and artists sweat inspiration. And I couldn’t imagine not being able to sing with the voice of my intellect as I explore the new lyrical notes of the emotional song known as poetry. But somewhere in this world there is somebody like me with no freedom to challenge the heartbeat of his own world.
Take away my pen and cripple my heart.
Poetry has become my communication as I translate to those who many not care to listen; it is my brail when reaching out to the blind minds that fear to see difference. It is my sign language as I represent those who are afraid to speak and have yet to find their own voices. Poetry is my freedom and it allows me to be who I am. It has the ability to heal but also has the guidance within it to recognize scars that I thought were securely bandaged. It allows me to become the genius of other minds in capturing unique visions of the conventional atmosphere of life. And if I didn’t have this freedom, I would be unknown. I would be paused on mute with no one to turn on the sound of ink in all its emotion. Somewhere a poet is inspiring because he can but somewhere another poet is watching expression slowly lose its pulse as it gasps for air.
Freedom is our choice in finding discovery.
© 2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan
