Given the graces of Ginsberg how can we go lightly?
Carrying the carriage of Kerouac both daily and nightly
Dreaming of days I’ll never relate
All for an ego I lost that I must inflate

Where are the wonders of Whitman or the cooings of Coleridge?
Where is the solemn siren of the great Lord Byron?
Is all lost and poetry for naught?
Or has the great elusive caper finally been caught?

I am nothing more than a man with two hands
A heart, a mind and at times a soul
Searching for the magical phrase to maybe make me whole

What happened to Hemingway?
What happened to Wordsmith?
What happened to Shakespeare high upon the perches?
Go not gently into that sweet night O Captain, my Captain
This machine never stops, only keeps crafting

I can’t carry the torch into the new day
I wish I could, but it appears not my way
So, tear down my love and erase my boon
I’ll see you my friend, on the dark side of the moon