On Writers

If you drowned in your tea-cup, what would the world say?
Would it cry at your irreverence and gasp in great dismay?
Or would it simply smile, not even bat an eye
As you went swirling downward in a steaming vat of chai

If you set sail in your bathtub and shoved it out to sea
Do you think the world would nod and show dear sympathy?
Or rather would it laugh and whisper without reason
That the bathtub's the wrong color and completely out of season.

If you dangled your feet from a rocky mountain top
Would someone worry for your safety, call out for you to stop?
Or would they pass by uncaring, they see such every day
And all you'd want was to impress them in just some simple way

If your kiss could heal the mute, your lips a curing fire
Do you think they'd capture you, rent your mouth for hire?
Because the world is a jaded place, it looks quite dim from here
The glass is dirty, the cat is old, the plate's been broken, dear

The people are all scratching at the door of innovation
And not one comes to rescue them, though they beg every nation
Keep on pleading, keep on asking, someone's sure to hear
For the silence is approaching, the shadows draw quite near

All they need now is someone to tear away the veil
The cloth that hides the truth and promises goodness will prevail
That's why God made writers, sent them out among man-kind
To uncover all the sweetness that lies hidden 'neath the grime

And as they scrape away the mire with their sharpened pen
They do not create the truth, merely reveal what lies within
So thank God that we have them, or else you simply might
Have been swallowed by the shadows upon this very night