Anthems Of My Generation

Rain dispersing with the wind.

Reality bursts in, guns drawn,

confronts only a blind man

in this house of mirrors.

Outside his almost hearse

riding on thin spoked wheels,

defined by its emptiness,

radio blaring anthems of my generation.

Shadows in the dark,

measured by marks left in soft flesh.

Tribulation brings rapture,

rapture brings the second death

which has unfailingly found me

late for the sky.

Rainbow that I knew isn’t there anymore,

leaving horizon unencumbered by distraction.

Carefully I scrutinize the paper moon,

can touch but not feel it,

can not be believed.

Unfilled promises, unimpressive surprises,

found in vacant bottles

washed in from who knows where.

Reality retreats, cylinders empty,;

I part the beads and enter tomorrow.