Where are our tales and dreams to believe?
No Devil or disease can bend or distort it.
Glorious thoughts- We adore-
Where are the poets of our time?
Searching for a path; trying to find that peaceful,
distant shore-
These are the words that escape you and I-
Do our shackled societies still believe?
The dirge of slavery; the freedom to select it.
Derelict and deceit; do criminals punish failure?
Where are the poets of our time?
Chain-gang mentality. They're in it, bound to it.
Open your eyes; grease up and slip free-
These words are the only hope, the fear of you in me-
As children did we learn to believe?
Absolution in nothing; second chances cascading from learning.
How crushing it was- Reality, the hammer that cracks- Being.
Where are the poets of our time?
Years long ago- I remember one like you.
Crying and laughing; scraped knees and birthdays, even parades.
Memories worth more weight than gold-
Foolish it was, no one wanted to end the charade...
Did the dirt tarnish the purity of your dreams?
Found with a prying sympathy, dessicated dignity.
A presence felt- Underplaying it waited, neglected.
Where are the poets of our time?
Remedies that once meant something, just stagnate and empty-
Separate the doomed from the dying.
Wait your turn- No one's trying.
I'm sorry...
Do you believe?
Can you remember what the difference is between us and we?
A sound, perhaps a melody to define our age-
Where are the poets of our time?
Miles away, fields of grain, whatever dreams do remain-
Nostalgia- A slow morphine drip to begin the end,
Until we return to the ashes and ocean brine.
With these words worlds crumble and rise.
I am a poet of our time.
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Submission Name: The Poets Of Our Time
