Take this unpretentious verse!
and as my essences disperse
I’ll mutter an impromptu curse.
Will needed ripples ever bless
this tepid pool of consciousness
to agitate the brackish bog
through which the throngs routinely slog,
can’t some new voice surmount the din
with words that thunder deep within?
Is all that has been said before
a distant echo, nothing more?
I fade amid the drone
of the static we condone
and hear inside my head
the anthem of the dead.
How fake! But we’re so lax
who’ll search between the cracks
while I wax — while I wax!
Oh Lord – can I not sing
a scintillating ring?
Oh Lord – can I not voice
a mantra to rejoice?
Is all that has been said before
a distant echo, nothing more?
Are You Reading Me?
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