To the reader of this poem- <br />a face in the mass, <br />with stony gaze, or hollow eyes, <br />or blessed with a far-away look; <br />can you see what I place before you? <br /> <br />Color and shape mean nothing without <br />a firing of imagination on your part, <br />so take these as you will- <br />derive no meaning that you cannot defend, <br />no feeling that you can comprehend, no- <br /> <br />not unless I give you the pieces. <br />Then you build it all alone; <br />the yellowed light of the golden hour, <br />or internal sounds inaudible to other ears, <br />the sinking and loss of the very soul that beats. <br /> <br />Sole, sole, not to walk over, but maybe, <br />something holy everyone starts with, <br />but most misplace, <br />a whitish vapor inside that <br />eludes electron rays and the <br />most sophisticated viewfinders <br />crafted by human thought. <br />Can we deny it's existence? <br />If a tree falls...? <br /> <br />I lost or sold or traded mine, <br />but found it slightly used <br />and much folded and wrinkled- <br />has this happened to you? <br />Did you ever want to be a maker of music, <br />a saver of lives, or to leave your <br />footprints in the white powder of the moon? <br /> <br />What is your passion? <br />Something that sparks the soul <br />and makes it jump with life, <br />a power to act. <br />Have courage, you are not the first nor the last <br />to fight this war, some die and others would <br />feel dead. <br /> <br />But all would give anything to understand why. <br />So reader! The choice is yours.<br /><br />Ayn Timmerman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-reader-6/
