Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I did not steal the bird
I did not steal the rock
I did not steal the turd
I did not steal the mock
did I steal the clock, not
I did not lock my heart's door
I did not fear to crawl across the floor
to lick up all that blood, guts, and gore
I did not look away from the keyhole
when the fate of the world depended on it
I did not shrink from the war, when it called my name
I marched through the streets with grime on my dime
I did not hide behind fancy titles and high rank
I smelled rank and rode high in my tank into Stalingrad
I flung Molotov cocktails at the big steel monsters
and then I sat behind the smoldering wreak, and smoked
as I wrote poetry about the apocalypse and the end of
the world, as the band played on and the theater of the absurd
mirrored the church with its blown open belly of abused people
I did not light the flame of the Auto-da-fe' when they cried to the sky
I did not scream, "confess" at all the others who wore the devil dress
I did not blame the gypsy and the joker with the red hot poker
I did not hurl insults at the deprived and depraved, I did not compare
saints and sinners, I did not spit at the downtrodden and the fallen angel

I DID NOT CALL MYSELF HAPPY
WHEN I WAS SAD!

I DID NOT SMILE UNLESS
I MEANT IT!

I SMILE

tell us about the apocalypse,
about the economy, yes tell it!
and tell it better than a TV preacher
whose face goes red when he realizes
the end is at hand, and
he could make millions.

oh yes, tell us about the smoldering
fuse lit so insidiously, so unnoticed
living under the bomb
in our living rooms

Brilliant.

oh, thanks Dorean, i had to be off line for awhile

"I did not lie" indeed, did not lie but rather breathed a sigh of relief.

gracias, conejo.