This morning, I woke up…
To invisible hands
Covering my ears, eyes, mouth
At news of conflicts,
Sights of damage,
Speaking of war
My mother trying to protect
What’s left of the innocence within me
From the evil around me
…and picked up my pen.
This morning, I woke up…
To grit in my clothes
That no amount of shaking out
Can ever seem to set free
The fine silt of cracked walls
That permeate the very air itself
It becomes a part of the ink
That is my bloodstream
…and picked up my pen.
This morning, I woke up…
To shattered windows,
The latest of blasts bursting the last of panes
In the former still of the night
Too much to bother cleaning then
Now a glaring hazard in the early light of dawn
Still it’s almost a relief,
No longer having to worry
About breaking what’s already gone
…and picked up my pen.
This morning, I woke up…
To wishing those invisible hands
Were still there to provide the bliss
Of the ignorance of youth
For now they know I know
And there is no going back
To the unseen, unheard, unspoken
…and picked up my pen.
This morning, I woke up…
To one hand holding a pen
The other a rifle
Pondering
Which holds more power
The one for fighting what’s without
The other to keep it from becoming
What’s within
…and picked up my pen.
This morning, I woke up…
To remember my only choice
…and picked up my pen.
This morning I woke up…
…and picked up my pen.
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At dVerse we’re invited to write poetry against the world today when the outspoken are being killed. It has been a subject at the back of my mind for a while now, brought a little closer since the death of Charlie Hebdo, but with the recent deaths of Avijit Roy and Boris Nemtsov it’s moved to the front.
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: Make our voices heard
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Also, see how others are slicing it up this month:
Raivenne-lations 
I love that persistent pen.. there is nothing that can prevent us from writing .. exactly how it should be.. no guns just the pens.
I love the way this poem develops, stanza by stanza, with the repeated last line. Really well done.
…and picked up my pen. That is a needful thing to do!
Rai, this is wonderful. Probably my favorite thing among everything I’ve read of yours. Just wonderful.
And that is the choice we make everyday ~ To choose the pen, not the guns nor weapons of destruction ~ Thanks for sharing ~
This was great. I felt that I took the journey with you. We all have choices in life….so I am picking up my pen 😉 ~Much Respect~ http://www.quietramblings.com/
Very powerful – I like the thought that we pick up the pen in protest….thank you for joining my prompt.
Pens are the tools of love and guns never feel love at all.. as the touch of death is on the trigger of ignorance that knows no distance too far to make killing fields come again…:)
The form you have given the poem is great… Every day I wake up! Brilliant. And the closing line – and picked up my pen.
This is a wonderful poem – the form, the progression, the repetition of lines. And in spite of all the ugly, the pen is still picked up. The inspiration and heart can never be broken.
This is one beautiful piece you have crafted, with an important message too. I hope we all wake up to realise that power lies in the pen, to pick it up and wield it constructively.
The repetition in this is powerful. The regret of lost innocence is strong, but I love the final choice to simply pick up your pen. Peace, Linda
And picked up my pen. Yes. It’s our power, isn’t it?
Thank you, your poem is powerful and poignant and persuasive. I picked up my pen.