gives birth to a chaos of truths.
A bumping, grinding, place
where realities of love, frustration and wandering ego collide;
where relic poets and politicians are relived amidst this moment’s viral voice.
An open heart should beware
lest it be drawn into life’s 7 billion realities
like a new kitten drawn to a dancing feather on a string.
Where is the voice that marks an era?
A single voice could never define it;
so many remold this world with upload and publish
every millisecond, for all, instantaneously.
A massive lump of clay constantly reshaped but no more kilned.
Where is my muse in this raging sea of change
with the life force pumping through her veins
who speaks her truth, devoid of media’s drone
and the unsettled muddiness of modern living?
You seek the unaffected, singing voice within yourself.
I ask you: is it really so difficult to find?
Buck up, little one.