Mystical Cry

I write, but it really isn’t me
I read, but it is much more I see.

Inspired by self motivation
No, it’s much more that puts my hand to motion.

Alone at the most inconsistent of times
Is when the force hits to rhyme.

Often times it makes no sense
Who am I to judge either side of the fence?

I feel as though I must put to prose
Else to make myself its’ greatest foe.

Others have felt this inner voice
Knowing it swells from a greater choice.

Could it be the voices of the past
Yearning to be heard after years of fast?

Always remember to say what you feel
Never forget it may make others reel

The past longs to be free
For the future to truly see.

What once was can again be
Or blown away, selfishness doesn’t heed.

A mystical cry through the people of the present
From the people of the past, as if a gift wrapped present.

Or could it be the souls of the future
Guiding us in a way, the earth to nurture.

Great poets, playwrights, philosophers, and prophets never die
Their voice carries on through others, a mystical cry.

(c) Bryan Stross ...:}...