Words

I need to give
Words
I need to give them
To pour them
To slather them hereabouts
And into the mud
Coloring black and white
Granting vibrancy
Chipping the old black paint
For the blooms
Underneath

Souls glowing with a love fire
For brothers and sisters
Souls burning with desire
To overflow words
Bubble over
Wordstaining
I need to give
Words
Speak them
Write them
Shout them
Think them
Give and share
These leeching words

Spread the flowering weed
Root it deep
Into hearts
Into dust
Into cracks, concrete, shattered brick
Let urban overflow
With living words
Pushing up
Taking over the
Hurting, man made hopes
And dreams
Peeling layer and layer
Of cold hard
To touch wounded flesh
And ignite sparks
That crack-shatter concrete mindset
And light the bulbs of your eyes

So you can see the words
The growing, living, pulsing color words
That I gave

~~~~~

Close your eyes for a moment, and picture with me the world. Picture the typical urban scene; concrete sidewalks framing asphalt streets; metal, brick, hard, unforgiving buildings rising to blot out the sky. It is normal. Accepted.

But think about that. Really think about it. How much real air are you breathing? They say the trees recycle, giving us our breath. But how many trees can you see? Look at the seamless bonds between concrete, metal, brick. Inorganic materials. Fitted together like an unbreakable puzzle, a lid on this area of earth.

Does it make you feel claustrophobic?

It should.

Now picture with me, if you will, that same world. But the air quivers this time. You think you can hear faint chimes somewhere far off. The expectation in the earth wells up in you, and you’re torn between wondering if you should find somewhere to hide, or if you should skip work, take off your shoes, and stand in the middle of the street, waiting.

So you do neither.

But as you are hurrying on your way through your urban world, convinced that you are making a life, you begin to wonder where all the graffiti came from.

Usually they regulate things like that. Keep the walls clean. Keep the troubled youth busy scrubbing it all away.

But today there are words. They plaster every surface, leech from dark alleyways and spill down from rooftops. Does anyone notice? Mostly not. But they are there. Black words. Green words. Blue and red words. There are more the further you go.

The concrete is cracking. Everywhere you look, spidering cracks appear across the ground; words creep from every crevice, pour out color and life onto the bleak landscape. Green is appearing.

It sprouts from the ground, pushing the broken pieces of concrete and asphalt further away from each other. It grows across building fronts, spreading like ivy and clinging like roots to every surface. Grass obscures the sidewalks and roads, climbing vines and flowers creep up lightpoles, glass buildings, cover metal.

The hum of traffic life slows… quiets… stops. Warm silence begins to pour down the streets as the sunlight finally breaks through the cloud smog and targets the city earth, kissing the upturned faces of leaf and petal and green.

Everything green is pushing, reaching, longing for sun and air, holding their hearts up to the gold. And one by one the people too. They find themselves, standing on the new grass. Some remove their shoes, some just stand. But all, as one, as the flowering plants and green, lift their pale faces to the sun.

Reaching for the sun, holding their hearts up to the gold.

And the world is new.

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