Nostalgia : Urban legend ( poetic prose)
Never heard of an unjust cause.
Underground, we used to sing
In garages, parking lots, our hate
Was screamed when the common
Man would heat his steak and watch
We were a pack of wolves howling our pain, in deserts of human tenderness.
Pass, pass the mic, the organ is giving the beat,
We had our mouths complete to complete and compete with the orchestra.
Nobody was watchin, only art mattered and a few smokes, and some food at the top of our abandoned building.
The rythm and rhymes mattered.
We’d speak about our lives,
roar our frustrated selves into vocals,
we would get there immediately like a therapy.
Things have changed. Some came back to « reality », the others were too numb to plan anything.
As for me, it was early poetic schooling, before getting published by a college and meeting the tenants of « good » literature.
I’ve flown away from them too since.
All rights reserved. 2019