We write of hope and hunger,
Will blood flow through our pens,
But time makes us no younger,
As we inch closer to feared end.
Cajole the truth onto paper, and breathe life into it, breathe your truest breath.
The words razor blade out my mouth, cutting at the still air-
How to translate the unexplainable, make it real, save it from its imminent death?
Look at us all, hunting the invisible, yet we never despair.
We write, we paint, we sing, and talk, and dance, and pray,
Willing our words, and paint, and sweat, to give our selves a say.