Fan the fires of your lives,
These short and storied lives —
The fires that are everything
We are.

Use the colors as you will,
Be where and what you will —
And let your hearts know motion, and
Know still.

  There was a time
  Another time and place,
  Before the spoken rules,
  The rules that say
  To show instead of tell,
  And whose experience
  Is even worth
  A hearing —

  But ignorance
  Can earn a fine degree,
  And still be ignorance;
  For where you’ve been
  You’ve learned
  Through cuts and shearing —

These fires are your right,
Your inborn, sacred right —
You must not let some other
Write your songs.

And critics:
Do not kid yourselves at last,
There always comes “at last” —
The microscope gets turned around

On you

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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