...silence...

[readingredhead]

Scream

Shadows walk the roads today, the shadows where people were, but are no longer the world is filled with such empty places,

But better shadow than hole, holes aren't there, the blinding blank nothing of their presence stuns shocks awakens makes nothing out of nothing for sake of no one forsaking everyone,

In this dance of not-ness, the shadows wander combine attach form groups so the shadow grows, widens, connects to all other shadows through a moment-life of silence

Which echoes through the streets, pounds past the lynchings and the beatings and through the mad dark streets of backcity sound and laughter somewhere,

Past the righteous world passing judgment like the Son of God itself, but out of form, in the wrong costume the heavenly power rots and decays, there is nothing left for the televangelists to kill,

So dead is a world where only shadows speak, and only speak through the sound of empty, echoing beating loudly through the white noise importance with lucid form, form of light, star against the night,

Coming out at the end of the railroad tunnel overpass where the weeds grew and the light dimmed and the people were lost to the overgrowth of a history inaccepting of their very existence, then what can be done, what will be attempted,

What are you doing here, trying to make a difference, they want to know, what can you do, you're only one and one and only, but they don't see the shadows that follow me, I say, and help me in my cause, and whisper silently into the night,

Telling how they must not be lost lonely gone away forgotten...

......................................................

I wrote that in third period today, reminiscing about our Day of Silence. I think that today was a very powerful experience for a lot of people, myself included. It is so heartening to see that there are people who support tolerance and are willing to fight for it. The number against us does not matter nearly as much as the number for us.

This poem is slightly patterned after Allen Ginsberg's "Howl," which I read for the first time last night. Something about the raw emotion of it got to me, and this is my response, in poetic form.

Later, I'll be typing up what was said by other participants on this day -- important conversations, things that mattered, things they learned and why they even participated in the first place. Tony and I might end up creating a book of the things that happened today, and trying to get it noticed. Mr. Vargish always quotes from Hamlet, saying "The play's the thing to prick the conscience of the king." Well, maybe the play for this cause still needs to be written, and maybe it can be written by us.

If any of you who are reading this participated and want to write up a narrative about your day -- even just a part of it -- let me know, and by all means, write it. At the very least, we can put together some sort of book for ourselves to remember this day by. Beyond that, who knows, but I'll admit that I think there would me nothing more brilliant than creating a formidable manuscript out of first-hand accounts from participants and getting it published. Call me optimistic, but I think it can be done. No matter how we put it together, I'm thinking we should call it "A Diary of Silence: One Day, Many Stories." I just really like the way that sounds. Anyone interested in preserving the events of this day, or with any ideas on the matter -- I want to know what you think! This is a pet project that just appeared into my head, I don't know if it's even going to happen, it all depends on the sort of response I get. But I think it would work, marvelously so, with the right sort of backing...