Humanities Weary Seam

Where do lost dreams go

From the heads of dreamers

To the world outflow

Do dreams dry up and fall away

Do dreams pack up on a rainy day

Is there a collection of dreams

On the other side of time

Or gently recycled

What was once yours

Is now mine

Do dreams rest well below the sand

Never to be unearthed or seen again

Fall like autumn leaves on a cold day

Raked together and thrown away

Or do they linger around

Like the smell of smoke in an old town car

Can you see them trying to survive

Like summer grass planted late in July

Do they hold any hope of reimurging

Like dreams floating up and resurging

Or do dreams walk away quietly

Not disrupting the feelings inside me

Or do they burn out bright and wildly

Dreams exist

Dreams must not die

It gives me hope

To run fast or fly

Some are real

Some uncertain

Take the time

Pull back the curtain

In each of us I am certain

Behind humanities weary seam

We will find

Each one of us has a dream

Carnival of Waste

Nothing disappointed me in music this year more than the claim or title that somehow Kayne West was the new Dylan. I needed to vent on this one.

It’s all about the hoes and the clothes

Songs about what others drove

Sipping crystal and shitting gold

That is what the new preacher told

My generation defined by such vanity

This new rhyme and rhythm

Isn’t what it used to be

Everyone singing about the “me”

How to satisfy oneself

Whether it be blatant

Or stealth

If Kayne is the new Dylan

Rolling up in a Bentley of Crimson

I will disown my own soul

If this is the price that must be tolled

For such vanity and glutton cannot be forgiven

Every single talent that is given

Should be taken away

Rather than wasted

Dylan sang for a generation

Calling awareness and action

Now all I hear is bullshit

Shooting gun

Pleasure the only “one”

To the ultimate satisfaction

I have no time for this carnival of waste

This recycled culture

Of copy and paste

I have no allegiance to this self-serving leader

Kayne no Jesus

And me no Peter

He defines no time

He is prolific poet

Not a single humble feature


It is to waste with such vigor

With chains of gold

Top down in the middle of winter

My frustration with my own generation

Giving golden crowns to those

With self views of inflation

I will not adhere to any of your calls

Forget your pitiful attempts to write your name

On history’s walls

I am not your follower and others say too

What you say does not reflect

In the things you do

No wishes for a brighter future

All the brightness taken

With your own scalpel and suture

So I willfully deny you of this title

Makes me sick if I just stayed idle

Kayne is no Dylan

That I know today

I will not change anything with words

But I said

What I needed to say

Welcoming Arm

Never seen nothing like this before

Everyone running around

A man lays lifeless on the ground

Not sure who he was

Or where he was from

On the streets of South Bend

Under a cool autumn sun

The cops came up

Looking to keep him breathing

Not much was happening

I could see then

I was in my car

They were on the street

I have no skills to save lives

A subtle feeling of defeat

A man on the street laid out

Long grey hair

Khaki trousers

I could see what was happening

In a few days loved one will bring flowers

To put to rest this loved soul

I do not know him

And never will

But I am sure he has a great story to tell

He may have been a wanderer

Or a businessman

A plumber

Or a musician

His shoes worn in and worker brown

The paramedics rushed in

While others gathered around

I was struck with emotion

As the scene unfolded

No wife with him

Or a hand for holdin’

There he lay lifeless

All I do is ask the good lord to bless

This man and either deliver him safely

Back into this world unharmed

Or greet him at the doors of heaven

With a welcoming arm

God speed dear friend