Raw Power

 

Old, grey man,

never took a thing,

except when he was young,

he took everything.

Burned hot as a star,

blazed up that old, night sky,

back when you could really watch them go,

back when songs were miracles.

 

Holding on the another day,

another sunglasses

and cigarette masquerade,

past the media parade

straight into the night,

always hard enough

to fuck or fight.

 

Years came and went.

Painful revelations,

withdrawing the needle,

regretful penetrations.

Cold as the corpse

of your best friend

on the bathroom floor.

The taste of vomit

on your lips,

but still go back for more.

 

Success sung

“Survival”.

Thirty years ago,

and anthem played

on the radio

to this day,

but so much for those

who didn’t make it,

they didn’t know.

 

Luck?

Sure, maybe.

God?

Might as well be.

Nothing of this world

can account

for a man

who went through all of that

to still be breathing.

 

You speak words slowly, now.

No need to shout.

They’re crafted and thoughtful

and there’s something in your eyes

that tells me,

all that waste

wasn’t wasted.

You woke up one day

and understood,

that you were in a unique place,

and able to see the world

differently from others.

 

So many packed it in,

so many ran and hid,

but you stayed relevant.

Stranger still,

you seem stronger

than young men

half your age.

Even though you’ve lived

a million days

in one short lifetime.

Old, grey man

show us the way

as you see it.

 

 

HG – 2021

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