He said “Soothe them to a slumber,
beguile the flame to a cooler heat,
let the tempestuous days rise,
watch them fall, subsumed by the weeks”
—weeks that creep forward like monsters in the night,
that slinkle suavely, qua quiet flux, then ebb, pulling in their
tide a whole spirit, place, and time,
leaving,
In their wake,
an American daze,
The wintry apathy of a forever malaise
For which we feel sedentary,
For which we feel weak,
jiving to old tunes which refuse to let us go,
watching,
helpless,
as Habit ties our feet,
as Reason takes flight,
and as the world stops,
wipes away its footprints,
and slows…
But we,
unlike cops,
cannot choke on our lassitude,
or bare to err;
We,
the people,
must remember,
or be forgotten;
We must lock arms,
rock-step with the roaring thunder of the day,
and raise fists in the indomitable crescendo of Love,
the sonnets of revolution bouncing on our lips,
the fires of rekindled fervor flickering in our eyes
Listen close, my inexhaustible family,
wait not for maternal melodies to take you
in samba,
to massage the aches of our day from your
shoulders and send you sprinting on the
right path
Listen close, my inexhaustible family,
there is no messiah, no hero lying in wait
Listen close, my inexhaustible family,
it is,
for better
or worse,
our burden to bear
—to summon the dreary monsters of our past,
to command the concatenations that mark our
day,
to feel, in our hearts, the guerilla struggles of
our autochthonous Love
And to fight now,
so that our children may have the privilege of
peace.
This piece is published as part of Love Now Media’s Poet’s Press. Poets have been trusted voices for generations, giving impassioned contextual voice to critical issues of the times. As storytellers, their words often help society to further process and digest the news providing empathetic nuance to reporting done by journalists. The Poet’s Press contributors deliver views of life through a uniquely transparent lens while exploring critical issues connected to wellness, equity and justice.
