To Be Heard

The man without a voice, obtains one.

A life full of deaf ears,

never being listed to.

He lived on the fringe;

Out of their trash-bins,

feeding off the scraps they shoved into him,

like he was a baby bird,

yet he was hungry,

and ate any piece of meat,

regardless of its authenticity,

He was either stuck in the nest until he died,

or forced to jump out.

A spiral straight to the bottom,

he fell flat, but now had a story to tell.

His written words carefully chosen,

inked into a font that sets the mood,

and placed on uniformed paper as if he’s in control,

as if there is order in his life,

as if he is preparing his last Will and Testament.

The importance of detail is crucial,

this may be his only shot.

He layers his compilation like a baker building a cake.

A life full of stories, oven set to 450.

A speechless assault on society,

An examination of the human soul,

an autopsy of himself.

An opportunity to entertain, to uplift,

to speak from the heart without ever having to say a word in front of a crowd,

because people scare him;

Trust doesn’t come easy anymore.

He unclogs his arteries,

filled of repressed suffering and inflicted pain,

then soaks the pages with new blood.

Sealed and bound into a time-capsule,

he then shares with the world.

He gains a watchful eye, attached to a mind, attached to thoughts,

and can now send sparks of inspiration directly into their souls.

An electric connection of black and white;

A static symphony of contrast.

The simplicity in his words forms a complex message,

asking questions and demanding answers.

and a man who never had a voice,

now sends shock-waves around the world,

to be heard.