Pick Up The Pen

Words filling empty thoughts:

'needs' and 'wants' they tend to cross.

Letting our surroundings chime in,

No longer comprehend where we're being driven.

Consider every desire, but our own...

Can't even hear our internal tone.

Honesty,

Has died with chivalry.

We look around before we answer,

Hoping someone else steps up faster.

Changing for the sake of image...

Not realizing all the damage

We listen to the moon,

That makes us take a step back.

We listen to the wind,

Who blows us way off track.

We listen to the sun,

Who has a different idea of fun.

We ignore the flowers,

That try to tell us this life is ours.

We ignore the rocks, that try to show us how to be unique.

We ignore the dirt, passing it off as simply bleak.

We ignore the clouds, that are just aiming for our protection.

We ignore anything that shows true, unconditional affection.

Instead of appreciating the rain,

We sit back and complain.

Hoping our stories will finish themselves,

Not once questioning how we felt.

Should we breathe for a second?

Hear our thoughts come in; let them...

Should we listen to the flowers?

The rocks, the dirt, the rain, the clouds?

Should we listen to our hearts? and then..

For once, pick up the pen.