ronin_46

A million dead poets
litter the world.
A million dead dreamers
who clutter it more.
Never found masterpieces that got lost in it all.
Drifting dead dreams
that never came true.
Silence that's filled
with half-hearted lies. Brilliance that got lost
in the dark.
Long gone the hope
that once fed the fires.
Long lost the will
to create
for it's own sake.
To live just to write
no matter the cost.
To dream past the pain despite its greatness.
That is courage.
Where have our brave artists and dreamers gone?
Those willing to go mad
or live in the streets?
Why are there
so many day traders
that write haikus
in their free time?
Why do brilliant writers
become lawyers or
veterinarians?
Why are there
so many artists
working at Taco Bell?
Are we so comfortable
in our world
that we will ignore
the creative voice
and take up accounting
to make sure
you can shop at Ikea?