Guitar Axe of the Twenty First Century of this Our Modern Era

by practicalspactical

Swords into ploughshares, guns into electric guitars,
learn war no more, the rageful lack of soft ladyparts,
the beating drum dances, remnants of some ancient tribal rain song,
out in the woods, watching rock and roll heroes sing and clap,
I remember once, drumming in a basement, girls wanting to be caught,
lured and hypnotized by rhythmic beatings —

that, that was a day of poison mushrooms, or maybe the memory is confused,
and I was merely puffing smoke rings
a large friend, drumming, the rest of us, around,

Can music save your mortal soul?

Jimi Hendrix, choking on his worldly rejection
Emily Dickinson sang also, in the quiet upstairs rooms,
Everything we delight in is the leavings of the dead —

Who am I? Prince Adam, not He-Man,
Clark Kent, not Superman,
I am Kal-El, I am the Secret Prince,
the Existential Hero,
Lost in labyrinths