I Won't Be Here
I won’t be here to see the city of justice.
I will never reach the pinnacle of parity,
never in these insufferable days of madness,
never in this climate of cruel vulgarity.
Perhaps in the next life, when we are interplanetary.
Or perhaps when we defy the speed of light.
I might have grown to see beyond the rudimentary.
I might let go of fear and embrace mystic insight.
As a child, I was a musical fool, doodling in sound,
A mysterious, broken ADHD harmonic savant.
Now my eroding ears are atonal as I am deathbound.
Now my dwindling entropic mortal flame feels faint.
In a past life, I was a Civil War drummer boy.
I know this from numerous vivid dreams.
A Union soldier, I drummed as troops deployed.
I may have died in battle. I don’t recall the mindstream.
This has been my illusory karmic lesson plan,
my path of suffering studying Plato’s cave shadows.
I don’t know how many lives I must span.
I don’t know how much floundering I must outgrow.
My days of praise and censure have ended.
I live alone, cruising in my seafaring reflections.
How many years before intolerance is suspended?
How many years until vile oppression meets rejection?
Poems are my children, my loving gifts.
I nurture them and watch them grow.
They are my psychic spiritual drift.
They are my humble imprint afterglow.
I won’t be here to see the city of justice.
I will never reach the pinnacle of parity,
never in these insufferable days of madness,
never in this climate of cruel vulgarity.
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