Let me describe a feeling.
Maybe you’ve had it.
That feeling like we are going to save the world.
How high, how delicate,
Intoxicating, vain and prideful,
We get that drunken high
Of having to save the world from danger.
It feels like adultery almost;—
Or, what I would assume adultery feels like.
Thrilling, we speak the words
That will save the world.
Our product becomes the great saving bounty
Of the cup… the cup of inebriation
To say, “I and I alone can do this.”
How our hands will not save us.
How we say, “We take the bull by the horns”
Disregarding the very fair warning
That by doing so
The bull had to have slipped
In order for us to have tackled it.
How many poems will I write?
They usually get deleted
The ones that contain such feeling…
That greedy gain to fix what only we can fix
To stop the breach of what we
Angrily we type to solve the world’s problems
Angrily. I do it, you do it, we all do it.
To take the step back
As the torpedo of our words
Fire for the cove
Blasting to pieces allies.
Angrily, I look at every foolish one of those words
I have spoken, and would rather someone else had said it.
Great is our freedom of speech;—
So much so that the government wants to steal it from us.
Why? It doesn’t matter.
Proles dance to the siren of the nude
Nymphs, whom make the internet go round and about
As we responsible intellectuals
Try to solve the world’s crises.
Frankly, I do not know if we can,
But it is our freedom to “Ought”.
And ought we do, but freedom exposes a weakness…
That we can be wrong.