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Rated: E · Poetry · Arts · #1534474
A poem written while listening to Bob Dylan's "Desolation Row".
The Barren Arid Sun

I can see them gathering for the lecture
On the value of timeless fumes.
The room gets filled with poison
As they read up on their David Hume.
They can hear the leaky faucet.
It’s a pattern etched in their minds
But the source of their suppression
Is everything else combined.
I blow the horn, tied around my neck
And scream to everyone
But I can’t even hear myself
From the Barren, Arid Sun.

Humpty Dumpty seemed so real
And confident about his life
But he keeps a bewildered secret
(He always carries around a knife).
He puts on a happy mask
For the wedding of the king and queen
But he’s been here sometime before
It’s nothing he hasn’t seen.
So Humpty sneaks into the courtyard
Away from all the fun
He’s gazing at the sky
Into the Barren, Arid Sun

Down on the moon, they’re ironing the curtains
They’re preparing for a night of games
Out walks Hamlet from his spaceship cruiser
Unleashing a heavy rain
As he finishes in a pant
They laugh at him in the politest way
Ophelia tries to comfort him
But he repeats "It’s not okay"
The Lunies, they have no mercy
They haunt him until he’s forced to run
Forced to run up the spiral staircase
To the Barren Arid Sun

Jack the Rabbit, he owns the city
And keeps his memories in a book
He always replied when you called his name
But now he doesn’t even look
He killed his last chance at fate
But he knows it’ll all be fine
He’ll just continue throwing bricks
And drawing outside of the lines
But there’s one thing he’ll never remember:
He used to live here with a nun
They discussed sacred prophecies
About the Barren Arid Sun

They sent in Jiminy the Cricket
To protect the golden bee hive
The termites who come from Washington
Are trying to eat them all alive
The centurion, some fisherman’s son
Is scratching his recruitment pen
He’s signing people up for duty
But he never tells them when
Jiminy keeps a sign, outside his door:
"Don’t hand me no zombie gun
Not unless you let me fire it
From the Barren Arid Sun"

In the high noon, all of the angels
And the ghosts of eternity
Come down to inspect the mortals
Just to see what they could be
Then they fly them to the clouds
Where the chair of enlightenment
Is waiting on the mushroom
Where Dr. Oppenheimer spent
Is whole life, trying to find
The secret of what’s already been done:
Putting out the fires
On the Barren Arid Sun

© Copyright 2009 Beowulf (johnakropa at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1534474-The-Barren-Arid-Sun