The Common Conscience

Foreword to the common conscience: this poem is for all those who aren't choosing the better part. Only you can know what that means. I used to be you. Feel me speak to you.

Everyone in this world has things In common

We are all collectors. 

We are collectors of bad decisions,

But these shouldn't define us. 

We all try to sell the belief "I don't have problems"

for discount prices at yard sales nobody shops at. 

Humanity is here because of love. 

We are all God's children. 

We are stories. 

Everyone of us is a story.

We are musicians that toot our own horn and play the music of our heart. 

There's a little man inside of us that can lift us or level us.  

He lives somewhere between heaven and hell at the intersection of desires, in the house of the rising sun. 

His room number's unknown, but it's equal to the number of times you've let him down.  

His photo ID has no face but pictures both regret and righteousness. 

So fold it up and place in your back pocket, but forget that it reads first name: "your," last name: "conscience."

(that's a dis)

He's just hopeless, not homeless. 

Realize you won't miss noise, just people, 

And crayons mashed into the sidewalk are art. 

Know that scars are just scars, they heal with time

And the stars are magnificent. 

Broken bells, raw nerves, and broken dreams are one in the same because when you hit them they scream.

It's hardest to believe in yourself

It's hard to believe our life is to be enjoyed

In between dreams we sleep throughwatch them go. 

Our duty to God awaits

Should I write in free verse or blank verse?

Take a step back, don't worry the static. 

We hate to see them leave but, love to 

Because a poem is just emotion in a story

Don't think about how it sounds

To those around. 

I promise you this 

If what you write is real then Someone will feel. 

It is then that your poem has found fulfillment, Opened eyes to feel, hearts to see 

I know this is true because it's done so for me.