The poets keep it real

The Poets keep it real
when our capacity to feel
falls to the dumps
when we’ve had too many lumps,
too many blows to the head,
too many arrows to the heart,
too many hatchets in our back
and our meds have side affects
that fog our thoughts
and jade our souls
and make our skin so numb
that we no longer feel the warmth of sun
the poets keep it real
the poets choose living pain
over walking dead
the poets choose love
even after betrayal
and the poets won’t shut up
about what they’ve seen,
what they’ve heard,
they can’t help but tell the truth
because the truth makes their spirit free
even when their backs are aching
even when the rest of the world is faking
pretending all is well
while brothers fall,
killed by hasty judgments
and post traumatic stress
the poets never rest
not while stories go untold
not while honest people fold,
too tired to speak up
too tired to bend over
and see if the man in the ditch is still alive
the poets couldn’t hide
even if they grew tired
even if they lay bleeding on the sidewalk
their blood would scream out,
make their words now sound like whispers
crawling under your skin
and into your bones
and reminding you
that we are human too.