ORIGINALLY POSTED ON THURSDAY JULY 25 2002 AT 9PM
March on, march on!
Triumphant.
Let the music roll
The bombs bursting in the air of the hateful
The tide running low and then high, bringing in pond of the ocean on the rivers of the barge
The maiden is singing through the window at her bride to be.
The widow is singing at the graveyard of her husband that was.
The music rolls on.
March on, March on!
Louder, louder!
Swiftly
Suddenly, the perils of the future become apparent.
Marching down the aisles of the school and college.
The grade school has no boundary, but the high school has only pain.
The college has promise but the reality has no gain.
The music rolls on. Slower.
Triumphant none the less.
Chills running down the spines of parents in their seats and in their heavens and hells.
MORE.
Here they come.
Students and gang members and drunks and drug addicts.
Ready to march into the uncertainties of life.
More and more.
MORE come down.
More music rolls.
They take their seats.
Surrounded by God and Satan all on one chair.
Chills moving through the bodies of those even without feelings.
A hush comes over the crowd….
Crack open a cold one.
Light up a hot one.
The music says the days are numbered
The time is over.
It keeps playing. Rewind. Fast Forward, it doesn’t leave your head.
Blood flowing, grandmothers growing. All in the night. All at the drop of a hat.
The bottle gone empty. The blunt blunted. The police are here.
Students and young adults don’t know where they are because their parents never gave them
direction.
Their parents never gave them direction because they lost the path.
The battles that raged were won by no one and fought by everyone.
We are lost. We lost. They lost us, now we can’t even find a war to fight.
No one wants to fight a war that is un-winnable
But the march goes on. The beat continues. More and more walk down that aisle for their fateful visit with the hand of time. It gets no easier, does it? IT gets only more painful.
The hand extended, the face stony. The music greets them like a violent storm in the night.
They need to listen but they dread to hear it. The beat marches on with their feet. Platform and leather soled, their hats and tassels turn. They’re finished.
On with life! On with death!
On with hate! And on with crystal meth. It doesn’t get any better, does it? Civil marches and freedoms goodbye. Holy alliances out the window.
Fear and loathing sense their home. Something has gotten into our blood. We are bloodless?
The music rolls on. Coming to a conclusion.; Wind blows and doors slam.
What the hell are we even doing this for?
We’re dreaming the impossible, nightmare visions of reality in our lives.
All this and the march keeps marching, the beat keeps beating.
All this in a midsummer night’s dream…
