There upon the veranda
I sat a lonely day
Reading Kerouac
The sun was getting low
The amber redness of the sky
Signaled a melancholia I could not shake
Never, no never, would I feel again
The unbridled joy of youth
Or so I thought
How wrong we can be so often
Mistakes are made
We base rash decisions on nothing more
Than that’s what we thought
I left the veranda leaving Kerouac behind
To the TV and escape
There was the real melancholia
The emptiness of a culture based on greed
The self fulfilling sadness of television
But I was sucked in
And deep
Canned laughter and canned culture
While Kerouac sat in the veranda
The book, the man
Burn baby burn
I felt worse
But lo, would feel
Better again soon
Because in her loving arms I would regain joy
She could vanquish the melancholia
Just by being there
And turning off the TV
Love baby love
No comments:
Post a Comment