“That’s the god damn problem with Albany, NY” She said.
“There are too many fucking poets “
In the city
Where I was born
They tore it all down
So many times
That we all forgot.
Because you see
I was born
In a place
Where the lives get
Lines and the stories
Become lives
Of their own.
Full of gangsters
And politicians, low
Dealers and the cops
Gotham city at it’s finest
Without a single hero
To write about it
Except us.
Because we’re just the fucking poets
And because were not the fucking law
And we are only here to tell the stories
Because this is all we own
Because we’re
The poets & the outcasts
And the makers of the songs
And the leftover soul of a city
That’s heading for a fall
And if Jesus came tomorrow
And if God closed the pearly gates
We’d still all just be the poets
Writing poems till the end of days
And we don’t write for glory
And we don’t write for time
We just write because we have to
Without a rhythm or a rhyme
So even if you leave here
Or you meet a sad demise
Remember that you’re a poet
And that’s just enough to survive
Because
Without the words?
It all means nothing
At all
And the poets
Will always be welcome
“Here”
_____________
R.M. ENGELHARDT