new poem

This will be a new poem
A grand poem for all the children who like me grew up dead
I will make of my unhapiness a rebellion
I will make of my sadness a great roar of change
That will come in like a swift tide
To drown my enemies.
For outsiders always know the truth
And those who burn with great rage
Will make lasting creations
Of bitter love.
And the poem will be broad and strong
And deep as stone, rough-hewn and true
And it will sing on desire-stung lips
Bizarrely ringing in dissapointed hearts-
To you who spoke of death-songs,
War-chants, or orations at the pyre,
Make for me now a new song.
Give it not to false beauty, packaged, slick,
Commercial, all false desires provoked and spurned.
Instead offer it to flesh and blood, weak and lawless,
Grimy, beaten, striven to a subtler, stronger passion,
Too real to be plastic-packaged, micro-processed,
Cleanly aborted on TV. Give us the real desire,
The upward dive, the ever-new, renewing pulse.
Give us words for our weapons, sharp and true,
Poems that penetrate and blast, songs that shatter
Like shards of diamond glass.
Return us to triumphant grave- so we can jump forth again,
Full now of an anxious fervour, a dancing pain
That will make the old ways fall
That will make the happy liars fail
And we'll cast bitter black roses on them
Shouting in sonorous voices
For a re-awakened joy
Long-lost, regained once more,
Restored.
We exiles will make of our beauty
A revolution.