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Poem

PART THE THIRD
The battle is won, 
but the war is far from over.
Still the requirements aren’t met, 
and still the fulfillment of inner peace lies motionless in a Chicago gutter.
But the rudiments and metaphysical concepts exist as alive as ever.
Because even after this war, whether it is lost or won, there will still be you, somewhere, someplace.
Because you are here, you exist. Forever, you are permanent. 
Like the news you read at the café in the morning 
and the wavering smile of the brunette 
who pours that wonderful North Dakota blend.
Poetry that offers nothing but callbacks and underlying bullshit.
It’s all still there.
People come, people go.
Sometimes without even looking up.
But they still are somewhere, maybe even lifting their head a little.

Men and women pass by on the sidewalk, 
lives just as interesting as your own.
The world turns and turns without a sound. 
We never stop and wonder why.
Completion still is laid out on the horizon, it will be a long trip.
But still, the notion of us being more than people – better than people, steers the ship.
The anchor waiting to fall on the sandy shore. 
We’ll be there soon, 
the waves are rising for this time of year.
The stars to the east may guide you to that island just off on starboard,
but they only inveigle you to a maelstrom of impurity.

If you’re wondering, this isn’t hope.
But it’s somewhere close.

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