Lennon Wall Poem by Daniel Y.

He was built a shrine, with paint and love,
a pantheon, to sing his ballads.
Yet on this sacred ground he was
effaced by worship salad.

“The sun is up, the sky is blue,
it’s beautiful and so am I.”
This isn’t right. It’s not a quote.
It’s not a rhyme he ever wrote.

The headstone became a mask, you see.
To become the symbol, anarchy.
Licked by the worm, his kaleidoscope eyes.
Picked by an eagle, those marmalade skies.

Swallow down that patriot cleaner.
“You say, I’m not the only dreamer.”
That isn’t right. It’s out of order.
You’ve lost the point. It’s lost its mortar.

He flew away, and left the stain.
Withal song, he measured our pain.
So I lit a fire, and isn’t it good?
O isn’t it good, Norwegian wood?