Thursday, March 28, 2013

Rock-Star

What makes a rock-star a rock-star; confidence
The difference between wondering if the crowd will respond and expecting it
Not with anger's demand directed at the jostling faces, but at the unseen face
Collectively asserting a will at the establishment, the man, the repressor  

Whoever is on the mountain will be given the hell-yeah or the middle-finger salute
Not in a demonization of reducing the self to a guttural miscreant bent on anarchy,
But in the revelry of a preacher, the leader as anti-hero, wiping the slate
For celebration of the underclass to lose the link to the mundane  

Screaming aloud in galvanized chant to become alien and domesticated
In a foreign congress raising the gavel in a sea of millions asserting
A commiserated sentiment wafted about as the energy in the air
A rock-star fosters this kinetic-will like a survivalist with the friction of sticks 

Rubbing God from the very oxygen we breathe to ignite
The flame seen in the headlights of difference
Between Saturday nights and Sunday Mornings
The drum beats, chorus, the bass throbbing lines of cocaine-adrenaline  

A man stands firm in who, what, and where he is in the moment
His life on a stage and no one to blame what comes out the microphone, but free-will
Aloft on the swan’s wings of beautiful destruction riding a pyromaniac's Armageddon
To lay waste to the assumption that boys and girls should stay in the play-pen  

When mother and father look away; the dangers are what prevent zombification
The sodomy of the paycheck, the racial waiting-lines of casted nets
Choirs singing on fire, alive-fanatics for the enigmatic reverse-transportation across
Einstein’s formula from body into photon shedding mass for the Higgs Boson 

To go faster than the speed of light and traverse back in time
To forget all the horrid lies of adulthood leeched from adolescence
The sins of malignant confessions washed away in the seafaring crowd
An ocean of forgiveness blessed by the bravery to scream aloud  

Every chorus, every word, of a God-damn rock-star raising the congregation
Showing the beauty in the self-that sometimes a riot is an act of love
When not assaulted on the brother or sister standing next to you,
But the idea that hinders minds from that which connects us all  

Rock-stars are good at that; I wish the capital cities had a few more:
Joe Strummer’s, Chuck D’s, Bruce Springsteen’s, Bob Marley’s, and Woody Guthrie’s
Not to serve as kings, but to raise the people to sing for ourselves
And ignite a more fervent democracy of tumultuous-love!

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