The Challenge

The pen-

                             His only weapon

One verse-

                His song

Sitting lonely

Thinking hard

Stuck in mental paralysis

Drifting mind, distracted

His verse hung in the air

The chorus not written

But the song was living

He might get up, leave

But he could never escape it

It hung, like a cloud

Reminding him, telling him

His greatest work, unwritten

On verse, never coming to fruition

The coffee cups, like notes from heaven

Reminded him of the piece,

But as he left he tried to forget

Tried, and failed

So the cloud still hung

Suppressed slightly by the dull, gray desk job

But the heart is blind

And that is where the verse came to rest

His creativity-

                  Sparked

His intellect-

                     Prospered

Yet,              

The verse still burdened

Every time he let the water drip

He was reminded,

The song lay unwritten

Untouched for years

But still alive and well

One verse floated

One pen, never touched paper

One masterpiece, never written

One more soul, suppressed

Songwriters, poets, and writers

The children that survived

The rest just, dream

In black and grey

They, the dead children,

Walk through life

Chained-                        

       To desks

Handcuffed-                  

                                   So as to not touch the pen

The pen that could free them

The pen that could unleash them

The pen that could resurrect them

The pen that could unite them

The media controls them

Feeding them lies

Convincing them they're free

Controlling them with strings

Strings made of fear

Fear of Terrorism

Fear of Murderers

Fear of Anarchy

Fear of Communism

Fear of Disease

Slowly turning this place to

Land of the controlled

Home of the scared

Once they faced fear with a closed fist

Now just cowering,

Letting it rule a once brave place

Nothing good comes from fear,

Just weapons to destroy the Earth,

Racism to help control,

And genocide to eradicate creativity

Fear at first seems to unite

Then it shows its divides

Slowly tearing the seams of society apart

Limiting creativity to its confines

If you are to stray,

Beware, be ready, be prepared

Be prepared to be rejected

Be prepared to be criticized

Be ready to stand and fight

Be ready to be trampled on

Beware the friends you choose

Beware Fear.

Hark-

                  His song

Heed-

                    His words

Make it your creed,
For the burden would lift
But is creativity unleashed,
Him, light as helium
His heart, heavy as stone
For, by design, when one creative drop drips
A flood comes
Burdening hearts with a rock
But, it is the rock that lifts you up
So he decides to be free
To be able to breath
To write
To sing
To live
To never stop
Even when stuck
To always be free
To never be chained by society
To never be hand cuffed by the media
To grow wings             
                        To fly,
All while staying grounded
Grounded to his pen-
                                 His only Weapon
One verse-
                    His song
Flying through the chorus
Touching the clouds
Without leaving the floor
So he writes his verse
And closes the books
Leaving a lasting note
Hanging in the air
Forever.