Mr. Hope Goes To Successington Poem by John W. McEwers

I gave a speech once
in a class on 17th
century literature
where I said to a bunch
of bored
so bored
students like me
that we must be
free of the
tyranny
of the new dogma!

I didn't even know what to mean.

None of it makes sense now
maybe I hate the way we speak?
Maybe I thought I had special access
to words that strengthen the weak

Must I have said such silly things
as 'Life is but a cup'
and 'To fill it using words
one has to freely give it up'

and 'when you die your words are golden
when you die your words are last'
and 'only dead men tell their tales
in voices future, present, past'

When I think of all the nonsense
that I ranted on that day
it makes me worry for my soul
it makes me give my hope away

for a pretty little diamond
named 'I'm really not the one'
so my voice blends in with noises
of a passing truck.