Picture courtesy Google
I the people—the mob—the crowd—the mass.
this line I love so much
amidst all fury and opinions
someone wants to paint me real, alive!
self-proclaimed greats of our land
they howl too much, it was not my voice,
it is not!
I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world’s food and clothes.
I am the audience that witnesses history.
I have my own voice,
but, am I misled sometimes,
do I have the right education,
do I have the right wisdom,
am I kept in a cage?
explosion of knowledge
explosion of freedom
am I trapped?
what was the right mixture,
the right mixture of nobility, freedom and responsibility?
I am the seed ground. I am a prairie that will stand for much ploughing. Terrible storms pass over me. I forget. The best of me is sucked out and wasted. I forget. Everything but Death comes to me and makes me work and give up what I have. And I forget.
Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red drops for history to remember. Then—I forget.
I forget a lot
I, sometimes don’t revise my lessons
I forget and learn only to earn
I forget that I am the mob,
the people, from which my world emanates
is there a right potion of education for me,
the right kind of teachers for me
the right kind of civic sense to impart?
The mob—the crowd—the mass—will arrive then.
Visit dVerse for more on “cover” a poem by a poet whom you admire. I chose 'I am the people' by Carl Sandburg.