Saturday, January 16, 2016

The Well-Read Boy on the Train

Poets and intellectuals
work the data mines
for hopelessness seems
close to the solution
in a world that's hope-bereft

Students still read Paradise Lost -
it gets simpler
with each passing year -
we, sinners all
still shake our fear crosses

Still people build their houses
outside of corruption
albeit they're aglow
with all the reports of it
from some central dispensation

Do we listen to this Satan
omnipresent and eternal,
or is the voice just too
damn inaudible?
Yes the symbols are embedded

In every program that we see
but we thumb our noses
at all that, riffling the dial,
blinking as our heroes
genuflect before it,

That's their deal, see,
not mine, you know,
I still can dig an orgy
but not if there's too much

The yearning's secret
in every heart
for something
beyond that power,
something one can actually hear

In the wind and the birds
and the streams, life is real
and death is a rumor,
and anyone with half a mind
can read that gossip rag

With names like Milton,
Blake and Shelley,
who still work
in Satan's mills,
as if they haven't changed.

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