Perhaps Bukowski was right
(the salty old prick)
maybe it is true
that the world could get along just fine
with a few less “poets” hanging around the place

Because something crucial gets lost
within that moment of impact
when we first decided
“I am now a poet…

and I shall live wild and free
and I shall disappear into the slums
and I shall survive on minimum wage
and I shall get drunk to dull the pain of knowing
and I shall expose the beauty overlooked”

That, Dear Friends, is a waste

The struggle outside is real
and the longer we deny it, the longer we hide within the cracks
the fewer the moments of comprehension become

* * *
My spirit is tired of running
one eye over my shoulder
sprinting from rock to rock to rock
one step ahead of destruction

Beyond these petty city walls
past the ambient glow of sickly-orange industrial light
the whirl-wind gathers sharply
and few, if any, will make it out alive

But do not allow this to fill your soul with fear
for our sun is but one of many
and our reality would cease to be
if no one were left to perceive it

Rather
accept the chaos for what it truly is –
the usher of transformation
the opportunity for rebirth

We have, within our reach
The Culmination
of all of human history,
what is written and what is only vaguely remembered

We have come to the brink of immersion,
hints of totality scattered here and there

In fleeting moments of eternal empathy
we have bridged the gap of alienation
and spread wide the beaded curtains of our atmosphere
and finally breathed as one


So let the roots come forth from the soles of your feet
and with eyes closed, sing the songs of protest
as the roof beam splinters and the walls crumble about you


For if you emerge triumphant
all of humanity, all of existence
shall celebrate with you
and no beauty will again be overlooked






A.M. DeMarco
11/25/05

11/25/2005

Author's Note: Variations on a theme

Posted on 11/26/2005
Copyright © 2025 A.M. Demarco