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I Have Words

I have words inside of me. They're saying something to me, to my soul. I feel it when I see pictures of endangered animals. The way they don't deserve to be shot, to be skinned. They're beautiful the way they are, and people know this from photographs. No need to wear them. It gets stronger when I realize how I would feel if I were in that situation. Don't skin me, please.

It pulls at me when I see cultures being processed, manufactured, packaged, and mass-produced.

"Modernize me!" Scream labels on our tradition and words. "Please don't," cry our souls. And we attach ourselves to our possessions. And forget the importance of life.

There's a drum beat getting stronger now, or is that my heart? It beats. People are starving, and yet it still beats. What is this? I look in the pantry and notice a loaf of bread that's begun to go moldy. It beats. I should have eaten that. Beat. It's useless now. Beat. Too late.

Someone stops me outside of a department store, "Could you please?" I say I don't have any change, "Please?" I move on. I don't notice it but something inside of me gets weak. The beating song gets a little louder.

I come home and as I sit, a quarter falls out of my pocket. The shining metal piece slides down the side of the couch. Removing the cushion, the quarter, as well as fourty-six more cents are recovered. I could have given that…Never mind. Beat. Too late.

The clock on the wall ticks, its sound bisecting the rests between the beats of the drum inside of me. Beat. Tick. Too late. Tick. Beat. It's too much. Beat. Tick. And the T.V. goes on.

The first things I notice are the pictures, not the words. All I notice about the words are the way they drown out the clock and the beat and my mind, but not for long. The colors of autumn blaze on screen, but its not the peaceful changing leaves. It's fire. It's fire engulfing a town. A town? I live in one. How sad. I'll think of them. Something catches in me, but not anything worth noticing.

Pictures change and a desolate city is on the screen. So desolate in fact, that there's nothing left but rubble and the iron core of a single building. Beat. "Where is everybody?" Tick. A sick feeling in me like I've just had my heart ripped out through my throat answers my own question. Beat. They're still there. Tick. They're still there. Beat. But not alive.

Beat. Tick. Too late. "Why?"

Beat tick too late. "Why?"

I can't change the channel fast enough. A beautiful, clear crystal lake glitters on screen. There's no land in sight. I wish I was in a boat out on that ocean feeling the sun warm my skin. Beat, then I remember. Tick, how seasick I get. And the way my skin burns so badly when I'm in the sun too long, and it reminds me that it's too late. Like a piece of iron in a fire, so hot! Beat, tick, too late!

I cringe. Why is there no land? Where is all the life? Again, I answer my own question, and I gag. Beat. There is no more land. Tick. There are no more people.

The T.V. doesn't turn off fast enough, and the crack of the plastic remote control hitting the wall only interrupts the sounds momentarily. The beats, the ticking, and reminder that it's "too late" create such a cacophony that I curl into a ball and sob. The sounds resonate through my entire mind and body, feeling the beats in time with my heart and choking out the question that I had been wanting ask.

"Why?"

Because people aren't as compassionate as they used to be. They're so attached to their idols and possessions. Because we don't understand that other people are dying. Gunshots ringing through their cities go unheard because it's easier and feels better for us if we ignore them. Because we can sleep better at night when we don't know there's anything bad going on. Because when we finally hear about it, it's too late. Beat tick too late. "Why?"

My face is red and my body is hot all over from crying, and the light outside has cast long shadows across the floor. I'm quieter now. I realize what the problem is. But now how can I help?

Already, I feel better. I don't know how or what I can do, but that's what the beating drum tells me, it must be telling me. It gets faster. What do I do? Beat. How do I do it? Tick.

The clock on the wall is reminding me that this problem has an end. It's going to escalate and keep getting worse and worse until we-.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Three seconds pass. And how many more people have died? How many more problems have just gotten worse? What if those three seconds weren't seconds at all, but hours? What am I missing?
Sitting there on the couch isn't helping, the frantic snare inside me screams. Get up get up get up! I'm thrown out of my chair and suddenly I want to do something and the words come to me, resonating, creating a melody with the beating and the ticking that made everything else clear and this entire life worthwhile.

Beat. Beat. Beat. Tick. Beat. Tick.

Beat. Tick. Beat tick beat tick do it.

Beat tick beat tick do it.

Beat tick do it beat tick do it beat tick do it, create change!

Create change! CREATE CHANGE!