What's Left?
What’s Left?
What’s left to be heard?
What’s left to be seen?
I don’t think you
Want to know,
I don’t think you
Want to be there
For what comes next.
The trials and tribulations
Are only the beginnings
Of this little book of
Revelations, explanations
And aggravations.
You wander around the former
Farmland, without realizing,
You are the crop, one of the herd
You stand shoulder to
Shoulder waiting for the
Hammer to fall, dropping
You to your knees.
Where’s the romance now?
Where’s the deities you call?
Don’t look back, they
Might be gaining on you.
Somebody’s out on the run,
Somebody’s out on a quest
Looking for you, the world’s
Troubled again, chaos has
Been fomented, the cause
Doesn’t matter, the tumult
Reaches the critical mass
And proceeds on its course
Without a reflexive narrative
Without a contortionist’s lament.
Yoga you say, twist and shout,
Stand your ground and hear me out,
Smooth sailing without a doubt
Is our aspiration, but the cataclysm
Reported in your catechism
Will you never befall.
Charmed life, expatriate’s
Ballad, internal strife
Occasioned by pestilential
Microbes, pandemic
Purgatives, you bet your life.
Syrup of squill, you’ve called down
Now the real damned deal.
Take a seat, take a bow.
It’s the least you can do
Between tomorrow and now.
---Jack Oakes 10/30/05 |
