They only use Latin to scribe what is true,
Every thought that they thought was an epic breakthrough.
Unravel the universe and earn a statue!
(They question their gods and so do you)
But they know more about reality than you.
Some bearded Romantics held meetings (sans you)
To compete so politely for highest IQ.
They poured out their hearts and they thought that was new.
(They want revolution the same as you)
But they know more about fighting the system than you.
They recite their own words in an unknown venue,
They sunglass their eyes and dress in bleak hue,
They do all the drugs that the world has to do.
(They smoke and want peace and you do too)
Yet they know more about levels of consciousness than you.
In thousands of years, there emerged just a few,
Good enough to be published in a book of who’s who,
They died for their art, or a cause, or virtue.
(At least that’s what’s written, it could be untrue)
Still, they know more about everything than you.
What makes you think you can borrow their pen?
You’re alive and well, and Now is not Then.
You’ve not been to war; you have rights like the men.
Apply once you’re dead and we’ll let you know then.
A literary poem.