Stories

Audrey Adams

They say that actions speak louder than words

But then again they say

The pen is mightier than the sword

Cuz toward whatever distant horizon we’re aiming for

That pen holds the power to being heard.

It’s there in the words we are speaking,

The answers we’re seeking,

The strength when we’re weakening,

Peek at me and you will see it’s the peak

Of the mountain the cause that creates the reaction

And makes some reality out of abstraction

Cuz who’s to say words aren’t considered an action

And the pen is not a sword?

It’s a curious thing to talk, to sing, to breathe

That the same thing which can bring you to your knees

Can lift you high above the trees upon wings.

Amazing the strength of this small human quality

With the power to alter the course of history,

Long after death give a life immortality,

End lives or save lives, imprison, set free,

The limitless possibilities, fantastical capabilities

Of a singular, minuscule, seemingly intangible

Key to our hopes and our dreams:

Thy voice

And thee.

See, it’s a cycle of metamorphosis

Butterfly bursting from its chrysalis

Says look at this

And a whisper of its wings wavers tentatively on a breeze

Blows overseas, then the entire 360 degrees

Till the breath becomes a hurricane, the voice, a symphony.

See a story doesn’t begin already finished

And it doesn’t just begin with the purchase of a pen

It’s power is of possibility but it’s nonexistent

Without the person to put it to paper with a flick of their wrist

When from your soul spring syllables

And then you witness the birth of words

Which dance to form sentences

And from there entire paragraphs

Until page by page you sit and watch

As your story comes to life.

Hear me out:

I talk a lot

But I never thought I was taking it for granted

Well granted I’d grant you whatever wish you wish to be granted

But the truth is the world isn’t truly enchanted

And sometimes those words don’t even reach my ears

Cuz they’re falsified, turned to lies and turned to fears

If they don’t adhere to the laws we live by.

See that’s the irony of education

We’re taught that if we want to survive in this nation

We gotta exercise on all occasions

Our voice, our choice, rejoice

But when this ideal turns to action

They march us right down to the little station

And put an end to the conversation

And the irony ends in irons.

And yet we live on, we sing on, we stand strong

Because the air is filled with stories and stories never die.

The air is filled with stories and our lungs are breathing stories

And our hearts are beating stories and stories never die.

And I know I’ve talked about the writing, creating, the fighting

But in reality this power isn’t limited

To the pen or the page, the song or the stage

It’s there in the lines of your grandmother’s face

The wonder you feel when you look into space

A hummed melody, a heartfelt embrace

It’s there and it’s waiting to come face to face

With you

Because you are the one to bring it into this world

Move the hearts of millions as each word is heard

Cuz words are an action, the pen is a sword

And stories never die.