Bigbang
To the poets and artists
whose hearts would burst without speaking truth-
what happened to declarations of love?
The reckless but brave youth
who would sacrifice anything
for a glance, a touch?
The saints who shared their souls
and, in return, touched the lives of those they met?
You were always there,
even before you had a name.
I doubt you are already dead,
buried in an unmarked grave,
lying next to maggots and fungi
that consume your flesh.
Your soul would scream a last scream for love
before disappearing into the bed of eternal night.
Hear me, artists in hiding-
you are not alone.
I refuse to believe
that our time is lost in the abyss of the past.
No longer can I be surrounded by
illiterates who cannot read their own souls,
cowards afraid of their own hearts,
false gods too self-important to see others.
So hear me as I shout from the top of my lungs:
Two forces crashing into each other
with the same force,
like the Big Bang-
to create creation.
That’s the love I want.
If you get this message, I am here waiting.