A Fallen Bohemia
Where is this utopia I keep hearing about,
This resting place for the denizens of art.
I am not who I want to be in part
Because I am caught up in a world of doubt.
I am not where I want to be either,
Where compatriots lose everything without a cause,
And I can’t find the remote and click the pause.
I search for a reason or a rhyme and can find neither.
I fought the power and the power won;
Bob Marley has nothing on me
Unlucky in love, in life and industry,
If my feet weren’t stuck in life’s quicksand I could run.
The one light I found that shone on my face.
How could I have believed
that fate would have blessed this bereaved
soul with anything possessed of grace.
I put everything in a box and tossed it over the side
Of the boat I am in without that paddle.
I have lost my place, the war and the battle,
That I waged based on what people said and did…and lied.
I think therefore I waste time being alive
In this populous that I despise
To the very depths of my soul as witnessed by my eyes,
This damned bohemia for which I strive.