One day, there will be no

One day, there will be no

Shadow boxing

Polarised posturing.

Measuring up will stop

Comparisons of genitalia

Will not raise a laugh.

As influence wanes

And avatars fade

The sadly demented

Will stop screaming

They alone can see the truth

The whys and wherefores

The pots and pans.

The smooth-skinned, fresh-faced

Wrinkle-free

Vox pop existence

Privileged people foist upon us

Will be seen

For the lie that it is.

There will be no more

Heroes to look for

Madcaps to ignore

Naughty boys, to run away from

Knapsacks to fill

With badly written poetry.

Imaginary dreamers,

Those who were told

They lacked sensibility,

Will take to the road

And find it leads

To an abandoned

Warehouse

Full of unread manuscripts.

Stories that were never read

Conversations

Waiting to be shared

And everything will dissolve

Into a miasma

Of stale invective.

Leaving nothing behind

But the ashes of romance

Hanging in dust motes,

And windmills,

Awaiting Quixote.