An Old Feeling

iuliacFever of a exotic place,

Today was a pale day in September, leaves crusting and turning

Rusting and burning, I was burning with them.

Ma, you have yourself a severe case outrage and uprightness in burden,

You and your speculations blame the winds turning, blame me running

But let me tip you in a secret, it is whats on my mind not what’s on my skin that is flaming,

Cold hasn’t gotten me, I’ve got a uptight case of the revolution.

Men have their violence, their weapons don’t go beyond that

They see their enemy, run them down

End each other with blows of words, slips of a promise or two

Then voices won’t harmonize, trip in tune instead,

They’re unstable, hold too tight in thin sheets of paper splattered in ink

Pollute and smear what was to be held the to the most immaculateness.

Maybe every war is a trash full of rats fighting that in the end

Result in two remaining, two remaining with a human food left over

And they indulge in that tiny bit, wallow in their own momentary lapse, but spiritually all else is dead

That point ends the motivation they once stuck their bodies in needles for

That’s a war, but a revolution, no a revolution is different

For us it was an escaping thought taking root on its own after straying off

A though with different kind of color to it, that would grow a new type of tree

A tree tolerable in American territory, and that though of a tree enchant over a different breed of livings

All which sung odes to their own liking, but not what what their fatherland’s teachers taught them like

Their odes, carrying various lengths, contrasting beats, mismatched each other

Until a few more gifted artists swept notes in their own hands, ordered them,

And as matters sunk into place, newcomers realized they were all onto the same idea

“We all sing, sing differently, but we sing on the same basis, we sing to the same idea”

They serenaded the thrill of freedom, the grasp they caught in

And took it from the branched to the heavens,

Ran with it from heaven to hell, jumped from earth into hole

Only to find each other sunk deep in discord, or better said , drowning in it

Much drowning did it take for few to swim out of it with their fingers pointing to the night skies,

Pointing out a right constellation on which a picture has never been made to

And they made that picture, states became stars,

Documents and meeting became the lines that invisibly created the pictures into constellations,

And, I could swear, those constellations became more and more vivid as years went by

And by those years I had gotten the serious case of revolution

With an idea muse that many mocked, a muse with a vocation of a sixth sense

That brought on a parcel that many would want to peek in.

A start on this new revolution is at the shore,

But we stand looking at it reaching, lacking on water traveling supplies,

So we settle, falling, drowning, for an idea we are building up to,

That’s almost in our hands,

A theory that floats, not sinks,

A foggy concept that carries us all and that we let ourselves be carried by.


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