We gentle types
have a river
surging inside,
with rolling,
crashing currents
urging our thoughts on.
Turbulent skies,
filled with clouds
all clashing for space,
building up charge.
To unleash a blinding rage.
The brightest fiercest
blast of lightning,
direct to the page.
We may seem
slow, cautious,
uninterested, lost.
But inside. My gosh.
It's a whole wall of sounds
vying to get out.
Trying to make themselves heard
over the other sounds rushing
and pushing about.
When someone hands us a mic and says,
speak your mind, say your truth,
give us your view, let us feel the world within you.
We let the waves push aside,
and let our message start to shout.
Little ripples become waves
as the pulse rushes out.
To some we appear brittle,
fragile, frail and weak
and sometimes we find it
hard to speak, we work better with
a book in hand, our minds connect
with the words within,
then lets them flow into you.
But don't let appearances
cloud your mind. Obscuring the view
I've walked through hell,
and from those fires
I arose,
with a strength burning from my eyes
and the power of a thousand suns
sitting in reserve just behind.
A rumble, before a roar,
a slow trickle before a downpour.
I see you. With your words so raw,
a war going on.
I know this song. I've heard it sung.
It's one I've sung to myself
when things are wrong.
We are the song that is sung.
We relight the fire in the sun.
I've seen your skies, heard them call
from deep inside. Into your rivers I'd fall.
Happily. I'd dive. To be by your side
with our minds
forever taken on a magic boat ride.
Thanks for reading
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