Something to Hold

I write to give wings to words And sustenance to dreams To fill in the blanks And to show the world the unseen. You see, Cries of help should be heard Not whispered. If there weren’t writers to write Then what could we know? Would we know of the pain of the Holocaust survivors? The things we had only heard Could be seen Painted by letters Horrors of only our dreams This is why I write To tell tales of the unknown Of the unseen Of those voices strangled By themselves, or those we call mean What will those in the future think of us? After our dominion has turned to dust? They’ll see articles of shooting sprees Killings Death Economic disparity Riots 911 to be precise And let’s not forget those who gave the ultimate sacrifice. There’s the Sandy Hook victims, the one’s in the Colorado theater too, The parents still in mourning, the family missing a few People at the table, Voices of the unheard Pictures of the unseen Are all printed in stories This is what they shall see. This is why I write. To show those now, and those in the future too To show them we aren’t all bad How a rotten apple can but only ruin a few. To show we survived Through our stupidity and mistakes To show we weren’t all bad Even when there were high stakes We deserve equal representation Not only of the bad, But of the good. To tell the world of our legacy To show them That we understood. To understand, We must know of the past And of the present To combine what we know We must have sources And sources come from writers Who paint. Paint with clear concise strokes. In just a few words They will have lessons to cherish and hold. Ones that may have been lost, And once were told. Those are the lessons we write of, To give those in the future Something to hold. To show the world, The indivigual, They were never alone.