[So tell me mystic druid]

So tell me mystic druid
am I pissing up a rope?
I can say nothing

I have been silenced

the shrieking, bleeding children
have bled me dry

no trinkets left to trade –

it is not their fault –
we have allowed it
parked them in front of screens
their sweet, smooth faces
bleached blue by cartoons
their brains rotted
and each believing
at seventeen (my god)
that they are equally gifted
at everything

we have allowed it –
align center
and be you’re own
Shakespeare

we have allowed it –
thee and me, old man –
we have allowed
the lame to lead them
and leave them
deaf to poetry

oh, and it doesn’t take three minutes
to boil an egg –
it takes a mother’s love.

.
.

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