I.

Where did the men who made these bridges go?
The cobbled streets? The railroads, every track?
The dizzying city’s artful vertigo?
The architects who said they had our backs?
Who made these stony alleyways, which curve
Into a Celtic-knot the times preserve?

The best burn-out or change, move on; become
Like those that they despise, or read about
In books that body the American dream.
Left to our sons to curse or figure out,
Each generation comes to be the first,
To blame, to make excuses for, the worst.

II.

I go to meet my friends. Kildare’s

is warm,
The focus is on mwah, if for a moment;
Chaos surrounds me, no more than the norm,
As each sin in me begs for its atonement:
I must begin or end a conversation
With a quick joke, a forced annunciation.

A glass is pushed my way, a joke is made,
The subtleties of language passed around
Like a drunk floozy with a hand-grenade;
Muffled deliveries of ancient sound
That might destroy the artist in my soul,
Or keep him happy, with a false control.

And is this freedom? Can the human mind,
(Being hassled by responsibility,
The pigeonholes of love, the daily grind,
A hopeless friend, a job’s monotony),
Ever know peace? How can a man be free
When he knows nothing of his sanity???

III.

The question lingers, and the thought remains
As ancient as the streets I hurry over
To reach my car: what keeps the soul in chains
Is what can near destroy us when we’re sober—
The thought of being alone. Which I accept,
More sick than fearful of the disconnect.

James is also a hip-hop artist who raps under the name Taliesin. His album The Rebirth of Leonidas is available for purchase on iTunes and most digital stores.