What if your pen and pad were all you had
No money, no home; just you and your thoughts alone
While sitting on a stool in an empty room; would you concentrate on your impending doom
As angry groans from your belly reveal; that you know not from whence will come your next meal
Would you beg, borrow, and steal; or would you write about it in order to heal
What if your voice was your only choice
No family or friends to consider your pain; as you stand outside alone in the rain
Wondering if anyone will have the guts to care; as they continue walking past, only stopping to stare
Helplessly you shiver, overcome with your fears; as drops from the sky mix in with your tears
Would you allow suffering silence to shield you from all that is wrong; or would you defiantly sing out as a way to fight back and be strong
What if your only means of sight; came from touching and hearing – not from light
No blue, green, yellow, blue, or pink; only notes and rhythm in sync
Enshrouded by pitch blackness, unable to escape; moving forward in time, counting each step that you take
Birds become melodies, strong winds harmonize; every sound that is near makes you realize
The use of your hands on wood and strings; brings you out of the darkness, uncovering all things
What if we all were willing to share; our gifts with everyone – here and there
No homelessness, no loneliness, no darkness for the blind
Pens, pads, voices, notes and rhythm, all working together in time
What would this world be like if these were all we were required to give
Would you keep it all for yourself, or provide for others to live
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