Last Laugh

What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.   Ecclesiastes 1:9

poetry has become an abstraction,

a train wrecked shambles,

without rhyme but more importantly;

without reason;

I bought this journal and pen,

something on which to write

new words, new thoughts,

cornucopias of expression,

symphonies of sound,

bright, white masses of exploding light,

a spattering of pure, unadulterated originality,

but now, as I stare at these blank pages,

the realization occurs that these new words,

are the same as the old words,

its has all been said, and said again,

used and reused,

just a different format,

a revised version,

only our simple-minded human egos

prevent us from seeing the truth,

let alone admitting it;

there really is nothing new

under the sun;

we titillate and capitulate,

until it all seems fresh and alive,

patting ourselves on the back,

creating monumental trophies and awards,

for the same old bullshit;

reading the collected works of man,

is like walking on a treadmill,

you struggle and work,

but no matter how far you go,

you end up right back where

you started;

Morrison had the last laugh,

he wasn’t a god, not some mystic,

warrior poet, just a drunk who

liked to hump, a degenerate,

a bold-faced, killer clown,

with the soul of a madman,

the ultimate masquerade,

yes, Morrison had the last laugh;

long live the king.

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