A subterranean renaissance
with beating streets and red lights
and people laughing hand in hand.
Boys and Girls at night
living for the night
and dancing in warehouses
and cracking concrete floors
and sidewalks
Talking about meanings, loves
and taboos
that people might laugh at
But that’s alright,
because to be laughed at
is the ultimate flattery
to your originality,
saying, “you’re so strange,
you make me laugh,
And when I laugh,
I’m happy,
So thank you for making me laugh
by being so strange.”
And brand new styles
dictated by
Individual tastes
that emerge from person to person
and back again.
And books and poetry and ideas
As simple or obscure
As can be,
But with people coming to them
Because they care to know
What lies in the deep pools of thought
of the minds of others that love
and want to know them too--
And more laughing as
they are laughed at
by those who choose not to understand.
As nightly, boys and girls
Congregate in prayer
for a new society
to overthrow corruption
For tea parties like Boston
with a preference for
Blood not spilled
But would die for the right
to assemble in this concrete scene.
And readings and discussions
of minds and artifacts
And sciences and religions
And gods and godesses
Immortal and mortal
Living or dead--
And music and rhythms
and rhyme and ramble
but always sincere--
With care and compassion
respectful and Jesus-like
and Confucius
and Buddha-like
And if that doesn’t work
then human.
Awake and aware
and hopeful, yet cautious
clinging to whatever is left
with generosity and smiles,
And walking paths
of imaginations
when the material world’s
Unbearable.
top
© 1998 Corey Lyman