What if I don’t speak?
Say nothing of the absurdities
I see around me…
The filth, the corruption,
The lies masquerading as truth;
The blind waxing eloquent about a ‘vision’;
Junk dressed up as rhetoric
Trying to convince us all of its creativity;
The capitalists who try to sell you the myths
That they’ve invested in.

What is there to lose?
A key to my only door?
The voice that can speak to injustice?
My dreams of a better tomorrow?
The ground on which I stand?
The roof above my head?
The answer to a future question?
The courage to exist?
The certainty of continuity?
My faith in the good?

Creativity is the primeval urge for action.
Yet what we call action–
That which is propelled by desire and hope
Or fear, anger, and intolerance
Is but a reaction that brings about effects…
Mere changes on the surface
That we mistake for a revolution.
The actions that matter are those that are deferred.
To witness, to wait, to watch, and to listen
Are the design of deep, transformative change.