I hope this poem reaches you, by the wings of a Boeing, as it circles the Space Needle, for it's landing in the Emerald City.
Tell me about the new home,
A modern metropolis that still clings to it's Grunge
With the wind crying out, Mary, from the allies of a hundred coffee houses
You're not searching for Nirvana or hunting down the best cup of Joe.
You're looking for things that you haven't been able yet to describe
The verses that keep you awake in rainy evenings, that want to see light in clouded skies
Outside of the Slam, you dream of winning
Stomach growls ache hard as your hunger for more than just food, kills you slowly
When you eat that first meal in days, let it remind you of the hardships you swallowed and each bite tasted is small victories, to keep you going
You chase connection wherever you can catch
We don't care if you bought it, borrowed it or stole it
Please, write us poetry to tell us your alive
-Mark SkryptD
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