Some old guy named Keats
Keeps singing in my ear
Lilting melodies of long lost lore
While Byron and Shelley
Croon their bitter
Sweet harmonies of love
Rappin' on my shotgun sensibilities
Modern improprieties shod with lust and gore and
Bloody insatiable war
Hard-a**ed verbiage too rank
To hold a purity that harkens
To a simpler time
A simpler place
A simpler way
Of being
But don't let me go, boys
The tuning in and out of syncopated time
Spans eons of dreaming nights
Till a new heart burns with the hearing
Of an ancient voice
In an ever-ripening world.