A Street Called Rife

Squawk

Listen, hear, there’s nothing to fear

Except for all that you don’t understand or know

The dark of the basement, the belly, the beast, below

Cracked and corrupted the floorboards creak

Down the steps, taking the lead

First a hop, then a skip, and finally a leap

Into the faith of the unknown

The Mountain and the Bone

The Lonely and the Alone

Watch them falter and crow

You’re a traveller by design

Leaving home to lands of lost time

A colonizer who doesn’t settle

Or an original beneath the foot of the perennial

All is the same

And everything is unique

Build your cities upon the backs of the lame

And dine with the peasants who’ve forgotten to believe

A table where your nerve is your tool

And the knife in your back makes you a fool

The lives of the plenty made for the few

The narcissists and liars who tell you they knew

The stone of the ground is sullen with the knowledge of eternities

The poor, stupored in progenies, would like you to know of their forgotten liberties

All is the same when everything is different

But it never is

Everything from today was learned tomorrow, and anything from yesterday was foretold by our ancestors long ago

Nothing is original

Unless it’s been a while

Everything is the same

Ignorance is denial

Bliss is a kiss from death

The More we got is all we have left

And all that is known from this life or the next

Is that it all began on a street called Rife, born in the mess.

Reviews

[Writergurl]

I Um, I like the last five lines of this, It just grabbed a hold of me somehow.
This is wonderful writing here, enjoyed

[1809 Black Plague Decem..]

Hellos, Blackbird, enjoyed the read, very much
I love the title, very unnatainable and catchy at the same time,
it is a harsh world. We wish to be in our Utopia, but it is God's will;
without understandment. The questionability of why?
Great write! ----Maynard