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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 03-June 06:37:47 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 156530
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => A world without Bob Dylan
[time] => 2010-01-06 08:35:49
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The freaks and the geeks who populate the streets Carrying the knowledge and spirit of the Beats Their identities are pierced trough their nose Drenched in the black that is their clothes Attempting to fill emptiness with more holes Tattoo their arms with designs to keep out the cold For the world around them is a reflection Of the darkness that creeps in their souls They see the beauty and ugliness in life For they go together like a husband and wife Two opposites fighting forever They are both hot and cold categorized as weather Changing day to day, keeping the waters at bay Just words hanging from your tongue left to say But you can’t touch them, name them, Put your finger on them and claim them Some things in life aren’t mean to be understood They just are There are so many people that the drugs left behind Standing in the shadows of a crowded food line Left to wander the streets with shopping carts for homes Family members stranded next to telephones Dirty ragged clothes to warm their bones Feet in shoes with holes wandering places to roam Houses made out of cardboard and Styrofoam Stunted by reality they lack where others have grown They are the walking dead in a world still living Holding out their hands while people walk by without giving They have a haunted past willing to be forgiven And yet there is something inside of them still driven The will to live, survive, take one last look and dive If their heart is beating then they’re alive Count the fingers on their hand they’re still five While the city waits for the man on the cross to finally arrive Guilt is a heavy load to carry A toll too high for your boat to ferry It clings to you like lambs to Mary You can’t shave it off of your face because it’s too hairy Every day is Halloween and the costume you’re wearing is scary You’d stomp down the road if your feet weren’t too weary And if people ask you how the thread of life is hanging You say “Just barely” There’s a stain on your shirt you can’t clean A deck of cards missing a queen Too much fat on your meat to be lean Too many places on a map you haven’t seen Not enough body parts for you to lose your spleen No matter how hard you study you can’t make the dean You wear blue jeans, a yellow top and now you’re feeling green All the while life’s two slices of bread that you’re caught between How do you find yourself in a world gone electric? Where inches and yards are lost in the metric Traffic is not slow it’s hectic Where love is no longer quiet but graphic If you look in the mirror then the answer is clear You might find yourself in the headlights like a trapped deer For it is only the truth that is feeding you fear Take another swig of beer because the righteous path is near We all wear masks because sometimes Because being ourselves is just not enough So we work out our muscles to be tough Hold onto lunch money from the bullies too rough Keep our sounds warm inside earmuffs Go to the store and buy new stuff Break the law and run from the sheriff And the farther we get from ourselves We realize there’s just one person we can’t bluff And who might this person be? Is he or she somebody that we can see? If we try to run will we be able to flee Live with the knowledge of the birds and bees Perhaps this is the only person alive that can set us free Fill up the void with pools of empty Unlock our mind’s weakness with a key I guess it’s not up to you and me But where do you find this thing you’re searching for? Is it in the lyrics of a folk song? Found in the beat of a hip hop sound Howling in the riffs of a guitar string wound In Shakespeare’s diary library bound Beneath the lights of New York town In the halls of Harvard, lying with the queen’s royal crown Or a glimmering hope in the street lost and found Is it under the carpet your feet scrape? Out the window your curtains drape Is it written, meant to be, or just fate Is it something that your mind can create? Or is it lost with the lint in your pocket Swimming in space, gone like a rocket Running through the woods with David Crocket Hanging like a noose in a heart shaped locket Is it in the broken promises of politician’s tale? In the bottom of a belly of a humpback whale Soaring on the edge of a riptide gale Sounding in the notes of a Major scale Written with an F on the tests you seem to fail Crawling slowly on the back of a lost snail Chewing on the bag of chips that have long gone stale Or in your coffin pounded shut by a hammer and nail Is it left in the magic bus of Alexander Supertramp? Burning the oil of the midnight lamp Raised to eleven on your ten volt amp Sleeping in the tent of your 3rd world camp Let out in the rain that makes your hair feel damp Swimming in the ocean of your stomach’s cramp Put in a message in a bottle with no postage stamp Or delivered to the floor with a left hook from the champ You ask world leaders, late night readers The beatniks, the lefties, the righties, The jokers, the fallen, the Johns and the Jacks And all the people who fell underneath life’s cracks You ask the one who comes before the fall The girl in the red dress dressed for the ball The independent thinkers who either think too much or not at all You ask America wondering why she doesn’t return your call You sleep alone at night with these thoughts These demons the light never caught This emptiness that fills the parking lot This salvation that cannot be bought This feeling that burns too hot You know there is something out there you’re not Putting together the pieces of what you’ve got You still try to unravel life’s golden knot They ask you to dam rivers with pebbles Take down mountains with knives Candy coat ugliness with good taste Instead of staring it straight in the face Smile at the world while it frowns on you Take the red pill if the blue won’t do Solve global problems with local donations While money is the god of all of creation You’re looking for hope, a word, or a clue Something that is not found inside of you That makes everything worth living, fighting, and dying for When you have it in your grip you know there is nothing more Something that rights the unnecessary wrong Found on the train of a Woody Guthrie song Passing towns where the tracks don’t run along When you hear it loud you know you finally belong You’re looking for answers in a feeling In a place where children are killing In the fields where machines are tilling In the freezers where time is chilling Or in the back pocket of a comic book villain In a godless land where sinners are willing Where the blood of the land is America’s pie filling But you won’t find it in a world without Bob Dylan [comments] => 1 [counter] => 189 [topic] => 43 [informant] => zedwards [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 12 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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