Alarm call

You are not in debt my friend.
Your pockets are
a cascade of stranded verses,
longing for being reunited
in a collection of poetry.
Verses that drop as caged birds,
flying around the purple sky,
before a loud and lush
storm.

Your eyes,
rolling image after image,
clicking nature and broken landscapes,
into portraits of hope and redemption.
Eyeballs fixing,
the pedestrians
mad and lonely journey,
like butterfly wings clipped,
into taxonomic drawers.

Creation longs for you.
Leaves you hundreds of lost calls,
follows your every move,
in the hope of a smile and a kiss.
"You are not in debt, you know?"
She says.
"Those tasks can pile up and wait and wait even more".
We will never be truly broken
by those who wish for our invisibility. 
Letting our art out is the best way to 
allow justice to prevail.

You still believe it is a choice.
But I am telling you,
that life chooses beforehand,
and she will never give up on you,
even if you consider giving up on yourself.

Every tear is a reminder,
that the road is there to follow and challenge,
and should you turn your back,
again and again,
there will be countless hands to pull you back,
even if life needs endless plot twists to unfold
and trap
you.

Build that firewall around you.
Choose energy saving mode on your settings.
Create as you walk,
may your body be your canvas.
Talk as you recite the holy words
of the dead masters,
bless them as you curse and caress them.
Keep your journals close to your chest,
but spit those words like fire,
because the world needs as many
as can inspire and digress.
You will never be forgotten.
You may never be forgotten.

And please remember: 
you are not in debt my friend.