The Second Coming by W. B. Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were waxed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come around at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

I got my new hearing aids
today. What? You didn't know
that I was just nodding
to be nice, but I really didn't hear
anything you said. Everything
will be different now. You won't
get away with all that **** anymore!
What?

give me drama
in my shoes
give me drama
with your boots
give me drama
like the blues,
give me drama
in cahoots
with understanding
of the current
situation right at hand
understanding of the history
at everyone’s command
give me drama
with your mouth
give me drama
with your hand
give me drama
with your music
give me drama
with your band
it’s not that I am bored
or want anything that’s bad
it’s just drama makes me happy
and drama makes me sad
and I need these strong emotions
I need ‘em just because
in all today’s accounting
I’m not quite the man I was.

give me drama
when you talk to me
drama when your mad
give me drama
when you look at me
and tell me
I’m so bad
give me drama
when you yell and say
you’re never coming back
give me drama
in the laundry room
and drama in the sack

I need drama like
I need the air
drama just to breathe
drama on my podium
drama on my knees
give me ALL your drama, mama,
give it to me please

There are 2341 chords
you can play on a guitar,
sometimes, I feel like
everyone is just playing
their personal chord,
maybe if we all just
concentrated on the
usual ones, we could
actually get musical

I was in my room
laying quietly
in the dark,
waiting for sleep
to come
when I heard
him crying in the street;
I went out
in my nightgown
and stood,
as still as I could,
in a patch of light
in the yard;
he came by again
and stopped
and we beheld
one another silently
for a long time;
then I went to him
and touched him
on the arm;
he followed me in
and without a word
took off his clothes
and climbed
into my bed;
we touched, tentatively
and stared into
each other’s eyes;
the streetlight
coming in the window
made his features
gaunt, and loneliness
shared the room with us;
after we made love,
he dressed and went out
the door, silent still;
I went to the window
and watched him walk away
crying again,
louder now.

I want to answer
every one of these poems
as if they were letters
in my inbox, I, a minor
celebrity with no staff;
I would get up early
and read each one;
I would encourage you all
to not despair, or ever
stop writing, and above all
to realize, there is no shame
in wanting, hurting, being
over wordy with petitions,
baring your soul, or
hurling your visions
into the poemsphere;
we are mutually stuck
and this is such a great way
to get traction

the last time I saw Moon,
standing naked
in the holding tank,
he was screaming
at the top of his lungs,
he was screaming
for the man to relent,

he had come to
the end of his road
and he was pleading
for a chance to return,

but the man just jeered
and pushed him, brutally,
over the edge;
my brother has gone,
my father, too,
no peace in their final hour,
turning the last corner,
their discovery abrupt,
horror and headlong descent;

can Lazarus plead
the rich man's cause?
though no bridge
may span the gulf,
might prophets yet
reach living ears,
the risen Jesus,
glorified?