The sound of ten-thousand boots marching away
from the line of battle taps a hopeless rhythm.
Another defeated army of dreamers, lockstep with
the inevitable drumbeat of surrender, long shadows
stealing snatches of pavement in the twilight of fading ideals.
Self-appointed judges judge the actions of the fallen few,
while true-believers and novelty-seekers find themselves
crushed under waves of pervasive mundanity.
On grunge-soaked streets and moon-brushed shores
fade tomorrow’s bright minds, yesterday’s youthful spirits.
The bitter northwest wind whispers, then wails
the pedal-distorted chords of restless specters.
And love-buzzed hearts, once fully in bloom,
lie tempered on a plain of truth-covered insecurities
amidst distant half-memories of a lithium-soaked sacrifice.
Written in response to Melissa Lemay’s prompt over at d’Verse Poet’s Pub. I’m a day late, as I spent the bulk of yesterday traveling on various planes, between various airports, on my way home from Chicago, but I wasn’t going to miss a Nirvana inspired writing prompt! Happy belated birthday, Kurt.
The Truth About Tigers 
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