Dead On The Beat

 

     I could be a deadbeat,

I could be a deadbeat but,

The beat is dead before me,

 

I have marched,

Carried the weight of a world

That hates itself,

     Insists each and every

Human screams till death,

The noise of the kill

Like the radio that never

Goes away and remains

Constantly triggering

The pain inside your head,

     And I just couldn’t march no more.

 

     The blind side is waiting to be hit,

It’s in the post, in the air descending

Down like the darkness of a storm

Upon the coldest winter day,

     And I’m there still,

Alert in hyper worlds

Where the fast die young,

Attacked by measures of authority

That insist we’ll never make the break,

Never speed past the quantum

Where peace and freedom

Of a Utopian future

Tease the soul from this world,

 

     I am gone,

Vacant – a zombie

Of an apocalyptic state,

My spirit denied the flight,

And there’s no fight no more;

     Just a reminiscence of

A hungry man that lived

A century ago – made of skin and bone,

     Searching a labyrinth

Of possibilities to feed,

 

     The process has gone too,

My greatest of lineage denying

Nourishment to keep them alive,

      Their talk stunted,

Their quest for freedoms

Beyond the horizon

That moves further every day,

     And we’re all dying,

Me, you, them, us!

 

I could be a deadbeat,

But the beat is dead already.

 

Michael J Waite 4th June 2015