The Throb.

For what is a man without sense in a throb?

For what is a man without hum in a beat?

Are his eyes the stare of a man who is alive?

Or has his soul just died and sled into the night?

For he is a voice that no longer responds

That fell asleep onto the opinion of a crowd

For, in a world of anger and tweets,

He ceased to believe there was good in his words

And such a shame that his voice lost its way

For it spoke loads of truth in a younger time

When he was a boy who knew who he was

Now the years see the silence of a mind lost

And now he stays quiet in a mumbling room

And stutters to the need of facing the truth

What happened to the boy he used to be?

His smile vanished, so the hum of his

Yet there is still a throb of bravery left

That signals a chance for a life well-lived

There does not need to be a vaccine to realize

The man still has a flicker of a beating heart

The silence slowly fades to the beat of the throb

Passion is the hidden rhythm to the essence of his soul

The cure is just waiting to say itself through a word

Boom, boom, boom, boom