I look down on the hopeless
Romantics – with their necks
Outstretched so far into the
Clouds that it takes decades
Of delusion to knock them
Down; I look down on
Heaven, the notion that any-
One and everyone will find
A person, that every heart
Will see love; I look down on
The greens and blues, the
“Old days,” the presumption
That we, in the new age, are
Somehow defective – because
We, born from a new wave,
Are powerful and raw, the
Separation between man-
Made, hand-made, and god;
I look down on the planet
From a high and mighty horse,
That every heart will see love;
Because to see is not to keep, and
To keep is not to share, and
To love, and be loved in return,
Is remarkably rare.