Looking back now,
we shouldn't have sung
our swan song
for our town back then,
when we were young
and angry. Back then,
we swore to make things
meet on greener places,
and joke on those who stayed
behind. A mean cycle that
we resisted, and forgot,
for we remained afloat,
and never worried that
we could drown
on strange lands we loved.
And now we can't go back,
for we don't have a recovery song
to offer, though we still ache
from our past mistakes.
So we still resist, even now.
How could we unlearn
these things, we don't know
but we must,
we must,
for our swan song still lingers
there, it echoes on each street
hovering like a vengeful ghost,
creeping in like a superior wound.
And now its melody is
sung by angry kids like us
who wants to go away,
so we must unlearn now,
we must,
or else they will only remain
afloat, never reaching the shore,
like us,
like us.
YOU ARE READING
Live
PoetryOur hearts are brave as fire, minds gentle as earth, dreams are fluid as water, and our souls are as free as the wind. (Poetry and Prose) #2 of the end-live-begin trilogy.
