The Question

Hands in the darkness tapping away
Writing more than they'll ever say
Yet no one knows they think this way
Nor of their art, their love, their clay

They don't know what they hope to gain
Some seek release from hidden pain
Or tell of the facade they feign
But to each one, this keeps them sane

A secret code of which they're proud
In words they scream, though not aloud
To hide their heart in worded cloud
And join the callous, clueless crowd

So much kindling yet to alight
When will they choose to rise and fight?
Like flaming braziers burning bright
Their words would guide us through this night

So much of us the world demands
And each of us, with fire it brands
But though they fit us in their plans
The future rests in poets’ hands

But will we rise to take it?