Motive

The paper's not important;
it is vital.
It looks appealing, sits still waiting,
holding some fragile information
that exists in all of two places,
unless you're lucky.
who is anyone to claim that your passion is trivial?
Your life force
The very core of your existence,
who are they to say that you don't matter?

The words are not important,
they are vital .
Like the blood,
Like the oxygen,
Like the life that fills your eyes,
and floods your soul with that
feeling that promises that you do matter.
A fire could take the paper,
A bullet could take your mind,
but maybe, if you reach far enough,
Your words will burn brighter,
Echo louder,
Linger longer...
than anything that seeks to destroy them.
Maybe if you stretch, and bend,
and scream your heart loud enough...
Your voice voice will resonate...
Through a a lifetime.
And another.
And forever...

Your life is not important,
it's vital.
To someone.
It must be.