Héroes
You and I, You and I –
Are heroes who are misaligned
With countries, guilty of restraint
With folks, born under quite a different reign
With foreign thought repertoires
That couple monolingual stars;
With fledged serenading creatures
Behind shut windows of indifferent teachers,
And alien, dry air in one’s
chest,
Deserting lungs after the heart had been undressed.
Yet for a brief period of time
Whilst a busker performed for a dime
There was a pact between jet setters:
To roam the Roman soil no matter
What it takes, for it has been professed
That we embark on this exhilarating quest.
As much a blessing as it is curse,
It has no expiration date, unlike this verse.
Dear designer of a multi-universe!
Please make, at last, a place come forth
Where writers, both rereading Keats,
Could start a revolution on your paper sheets
Would you allow?
Might never know, because for now...
...You and I, you and I
Are festive effigies they call their shrine.
Rising above confetti-covered streets,
We regenerate to liberating pagan beats.
Who knows, perhaps, this self-repeating theme
Is, indeed, a dream within a dream;
Perhaps.. The nightly waves after demise
Are morning rays that make up the sunrise.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 12:58 PM UTC
Héroes
You and I, You and I –
Are heroes who are misaligned
With countries, guilty of restraint
With folks, born under quite a different reign
With foreign thought repertoires
That couple monolingual stars;
With fledged serenading creatures
Behind shut windows of indifferent teachers,
And alien, dry air in one’s
chest,
Deserting lungs after the heart had been undressed.
Yet for a brief period of time
Whilst a busker performed for a dime
There was a pact between jet setters:
To roam the Roman soil no matter
What it takes, for it has been professed
That we embark on this exhilarating quest.
As much a blessing as it is curse,
It has no expiration date, unlike this verse.
Dear designer of a multi-universe!
Please make, at last, a place come forth
Where writers, both rereading Keats,
Could start a revolution on your paper sheets
Would you allow?
Might never know, because for now...
...You and I, you and I
Are festive effigies they call their shrine.
Rising above confetti-covered streets,
We regenerate to liberating pagan beats.
Who knows, perhaps, this self-repeating theme
Is, indeed, a dream within a dream;
Perhaps.. The nightly waves after demise
Are morning rays that make up the sunrise.
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