I’ve always had a subtle kind of loathing
Held in special reserve for those
Self-promoting reporters
Who on first blush appear simple agents of the daily news
But in reality breathe the stuff of endings.
And feed off our collective emotional conscience.
Always earching for the next tear jerking tear jerker
And the irony is, the more we cry the less we feel
Till our ducts are held hostage by each new day’s
Grander homage to
Some nobody that nobody knew,
And nobody cared about
Who had the good fortune to die in a way that left some shine in his name
To be gobbled up like candy by the ever circling vultures
Who can smell these corpses a mile away
And whose pens cut deeper than any talons or beak that nature ever made
I for one, would care to die in obscurity
Whatever faint glow my passing leaves behind
Gently decaying amongst my dreams
As they too are reborn
Composted into new vitality
Under the fingers of a new mind
One who gives a damn. One who knows
One who cares about
The intangible stuff that fortune tries to pluck away from our names
To be carried aloft like the green olive shoots
Grasped in the delicate claws of Noah’s dove
A messenger, crying in silent voice “New lands ahoy!”
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