OUTBREAK’S ODE TO THE IN-CROWDS

We just don’t believe like we used to

Those

of a past

generation or two

needed no subject

to peddle sublime verbiage

Even those who chose

to believe in nothing nonetheless

hydroplaned on the pooled

conscience of a contribution

to a fluid puzzle

gleefully awaiting little bangs

of innovational heredity

They were the mustard seed

generations

Their subsequent children

be they nesting birds

or intrusive

were destined for that tree to greet

their maiden flight

Then the trees

fell

into the abyssal path

imprinted on the groundwork

of ancestry

The elders

embezzled the leaves

to furnish their coffins and bloodlines

An egg without a nest now

is born to be rotten

with capital looking more

like the new cotton

Just when a generation

needs a peacekeeper magnetic enough

to lead from a bed of example

But no

For trust of that ilk

has been mangled by the distrust

outed so commonly

by the deaf choir of screens

and cameras

This is the new charisma

Even John Lennon can’t jam

with these circumstances

for this is visual

and the outbreak confining us

to the home fires is not

We didn’t start it

the renegade flares

of a generation plead

Visuals rule now

Visionaries take heed

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