After the rain of our imagination the leaves vanish
in the moonless darkness, away from sight, they whisper
can't count the nights spent decoding the stream of colours
sweeping inside my own skin, this life paints us
every possible shade and tone
to see the picture you have to listen beyond the silence
it's a shelter to let these written words speak for
themselves
for we too often get lost in speech
we say less than we mean to say
and hope somebody received the message through
courage fails us or do words leave us?
we talk, yet who is still listening?
it's like speech has become a way
for us to admire our own voices
we talk and talk, yet we change nothing
our promises aren't followed by deeds
those who listened have become weary
anticipating the moment when we will
have nothing more to say
we like to argue about right and wrong
justice
and equality
but it seems too difficult to choose the harder right
are our real faces hiding behind the clutter
of old ideas, wishes, hopes and mistakes
have they nailed us to the ground
and we lay there comfortably
because we've given up on how it could be?
seasons and years give us opportunities
to improve and to change
and don't stand for less
sit down to talk and listen
about everything and nothing at all
dive deep inside
and bring back the real you -
and be raw.
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