As bounding jesters, we arrived at the festival, filled
with joy, slogans, rage, and chants. We brimmed with the
obvious, banalities, and we came to concur with our kind.


This new world shaker
Blue-eyed traipsing vagabond
So slight in stature


Wagging a finger at past generations, how we cursed and
hated their injustice and war machinery. But our idol had
plugged in, gone electric, gone eclectic, introspective.


Demanding Jesus
We cried “traitor" and “Judas”
Pelted him with “Booo…”


We had answers but never found need to pose questions, to
ourselves. How the song had changed, and how the song
remained the same.


Look into my eyes
What am I supposed to be?
What is it I owe?


In the light of a dawning decade, with swelling from
behind, we shed false ideals, and false idols, like baby
teeth, one by one, in the years to come.

03/14/2005

Posted on 03/15/2005
Copyright © 2026 David Hill