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by Sammy
Rated: E · Poetry · Cultural · #2291520
A response to modernism.

Your birth certainly wasn’t an easy one.

People rejected nearly everything you came up with.

You roared with your own pride.

No longer feeling you had to hide.

Thunderous engines pollution blocking out the light.

Even death ceased to be a frightening sight.

Electricity coursing through you.

Outlining your tender half formed edges.

You recklessly teared at the worlds stiches. b

Driving people to write jagged imperfect poetry.

Nobody really understands you.

A relatable position, for a revolutionary.

Oh! So young and so new.

They didn’t know what you could do.

A chaotic storm

With little base or form.

A raging egotist whose beauty,

insisted to persist.

Like ol’ Mr Lewis

The modern-day Dracula-artiste.

Its never quite gone out

the echoes still sound.

Jazz and internal combustion

faint whirring as cars go out of vision.

Things are definitely changing

we didn’t like some of your thinking.

But you had spirit for sure

that still in us endures.
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