’We are young, we are young!‘ they said,
the eyeless faces screaming in youth’s stead,
‘Come one, come all, for you live just once,
come one, come all, and spare not a care.
Not a moment’s waste on things
which you can’t slather on a price,
not a devil’s roll for people
who can’t throw you the dice.‘
I sit, my pen laid to rest on my lap,
as I watch them burn everything in sight.
‘We burn, we burn!’ they loudly proclaim,
their paintings, their easles encasing their pride.
And yet I see no strand of hair on fire.
I see not a single pair of eyes waking from slumber.
This might be the way to live,
but it sure as hell is not the way to be alive.
I wait for the words to see me through,
my own special lens with which I use
to see the world clearer.
But no words come to me.
I am but a humble poet not a seer –
I smith the words on paper and taint them with ink
but no, I don’t see the future anymore than I can the present,
I only see the past and its careless patterns.
So I wait for wisdom,
I wear the years on my sleeve.
I watch the world turn
while the men with golden tongue
preach about the state affairs,
the women continue to count by the wrinkles,
the men calculate by the stares.
This is what we have become.
I wait for the knowledge, the word, the proclamation, the shout;
It will be the undying of the youth
the fountain of life for the old, the revival of the dead.
Tear my heart open, let it be seared by the salt of my tears.
I don’t want to keep my eyes shut.
I don’t want to sleep.
I’ll shake hands with wisdom the moment he passes by.
I’ll set us all on fire.