second stab at slam poetry, 3 minutes, 2 seconds.
i am a dreamer.
can you hear a pin drop?
if we listened close enough, what would it say?
i sometimes wonder if we're all too busy bathing in our ignorance,
our 40-hour weeks and our television, or
living too deep inside of our heads like hermits with sticks and staves to ward off visitors that come a'knocking,
more often, too far out of them -- neglecting them,
leaving them to their hybernation,
left untouched by mental stimulation
until, that is,
until you wake them up.
i sometimes wonder if we shook our minds by the shoulder,
and we whispered in their ear,
we told them: wake up, honey, you're gonna miss the train,
chugga, chugga, chugga, Choo! Choo!
if they would open their eyes and allow the gears inside of them to move slowly,
gaining momentum, slowly,
or if they would simply,
slowly roll over and pay no mind to the clack, clack, clack
on the railroad tracks
and the sweet, somber songs of the passengers
an infant suited in red cries for another sip from his mother's breast,
music echoes through small headphones, the lyrics to your favorite song eradicated and all you hear is a beat.
a beat is enough.
married couples arguing, lustful lovers making out, all you hear are accusations and a smack, smack, smack as their lips meet and part.
all you need is the beat.
so sometimes, i wonder, if when that pin drops if the bugs hear it,
and when we stomp about above their homes, if they throw raves beneath the ground
and sometimes, i wonder, if when that pin drops
if Science matters at all and the intensity and pitch and decibels and the ability of the human ear,
and what it lacks, or what it doesn't, i wonder,
if they even matter at all.
we need to wake our minds up.
if we do wake them
and we take a moment, a sweet moment, of our precious time and listen:
listen to the pin drop
whether we hear it
or we don't,
and understand what it tells us then
we will experience something truly ethereal and beautiful,
and our souls will fly outside of the corporeal jail they are trapped in
in pastel, fluffy, spiritual, and shapeless masses that leave behind sticky, sugary residues
and you'll close your eyes and you'll say,
this is what freedom feels like.
and with liberated souls and invigorated minds,
uninhibited we will wander in our cotton-candy state.
and, intangible, corporeality cannot grasp us and tear us away.