I’ve Never Met a Communist

Workers of the world unite,
And rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Rage?
Rage against the dying of what light?
What light for the poor?
No, rage for the light!
But no, not even that,
For what light can penetrate blindness?
The blindness of the millions,
The blindness of us all.
Walt, Walt, Walt,
What does your song for occupations mean now?
Now, now that your carolers have been swept aside,
Swept by that master house cleaner,
Whistling your tune,
And leaving little else.
All gone,
All,
Everyone,
But how many seem to remain?
Twenty-five?
Fifty?
Only names, a few scribbles,
But not them.
And the ancestors,
And all those who went before,
And the workers, the workers,
The workers!
And Marx remains?
Marx?
And the workers all gone.
And the fools who follow are forgotten,
Forgotten, forgotten, ‘til all are forgotten,
And oblivion makes us equal at last.

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