Friday, 27 October 2017

THE WASTE WANDERER'S SONG

Who am I?
A shade from the past, alone and lost,
I hold deep sorrow for this world I know,
What has it become?


Placing my hand upon her face,
I hear her sing, faintly sing, 
But no one hears anymore.

I hear her song, hear the pain,
The crying, the anguish,
Her fears and tears.

 
She has been in pain for so long,
Sad at a world gone mad,
Yearning for what we had.


Division and elitism rule these lands,
Holding up my hands, 
Asking if there will be an end,
 To the cultural graveyards I walk.

She sings about hip hop and hc punk,
Before they became defunct,
She helps me remember.


As I inscribe this message, I ask you to pause,
Reach down, place your hands upon her face,
Listen, listen like we once did.


Feel her words, her song,
Then open your eyes,
Look at the sands.


Feel the passion, her love,
Take these words far and wide,
Out into The Wastelands.


Write the long forgotten songs,
The sacred genres, share them as reminders,
 

So the rhythms can return, and help others learn,
The spirits of hip hop and hc punk, her song,
I hear her song, I hear her sing.

I am The Waste Wanderer,
I have returned.


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