World Without Bob Dylan

By Zev Lawson Edwards

The freaks and the geeks who populate the streets

Carry the knowledge and spirit of the Beats

Their identities are pierced through their noses

Drenched in the black of their clothes

They attempt to fill emptiness with more holes

Tattoo their arms with designs to keep out the cold

For the world around them is a reflection

Of the darkness that creeps in their souls

They see the beauty and ugliness in life

For they go together like a husband and wife

Two opposites fighting forever

They are both hot and cold categorized as weather

Changing day to day, keeping the waters at bay

Just words hanging from your tongue left to say

But you can’t touch them, name them,

Put your finger on them and claim them

Some things in life aren’t meant to be understood . . . they just are

There are so many people the drugs left behind

Stranded in the shadows of a crowded food line

Left to wander the streets, shopping carts for homes

Family members waiting next to telephones

Dirty, ragged clothes to warm their bones

Feet in shoes with holes wandering places to roam

Houses made out of cardboard and Styrofoam

Stunted by reality they lack where others have grown

They are the walking dead in a world still living

Holding out hands while people pass by without giving

They have a haunted past willing to be forgiven

Yet something inside of them is still driven

The will to live, survive, take one last look and dive

If their heart is still beating, then they’re alive

Count the fingers on their hand they’re still five

While the city waits for the man on the cross to finally arrive

Guilt is a heavy load to carry

A toll too high for your boat to ferry

It clings to you like lambs to Mary

Can’t be shaved off your face because it’s too hairy

Every day is Halloween and the costume you’re wearing is scary

You stomp down the road, but your feet are too weary

And if people ask how the thread of life is hanging

You say . . . “Just barely”

There’s a stain on your shirt you can’t clean

A deck of cards missing a Queen

Too much fat on your meat to be lean

Too many places on a map you haven’t seen

Not enough body parts to lose your spleen

No matter how hard you study you can’t make the dean

You wear blue jeans, a yellow top, and now you’re feeling green

All the while life’s two slices of bread you’re caught between

How do you find yourself in a world gone electric?

Where inches and yards are lost in the metric

Where traffic is not slow it’s hectic

Where love is no longer quiet but graphic

If you look in the mirror, then the answer is clear

You might find yourself in the headlights of a trapped deer

For it is only the truth that is feeding you fear

Take another swig of beer because the righteous path is near

We all wear masks because sometimes

Being ourselves is just not enough

To compensate we work our muscles tough

Hold onto lunch money from the bullies too rough

Keep our sounds warm inside earmuffs

Go to the store and buy new stuff

Break the law and run from the sheriff

And the further we get away from ourselves

We realize there’s just one person we can’t bluff

And who might this person be?

Is he or she somebody we can see?

If we try to run, will we be able to flee?

Live with the knowledge of the birds and bees

Perhaps this is the only person alive who can set us free

Fill up the void with pools less empty

Unlock our mind’s weakness with a key

I guess it’s not really up to you and me

But where do you find this thing you’re searching for?

Is it in the lyrics of a folk song?

Found in the beat of a hip-hop sound?

Howling in the riffs of a guitar string wound?

In Shakespeare’s diary library bound?

Beneath the lights of New York town?

In the halls of Harvard, lying with the Queen’s royal crown?

Or is it a glimmering hope in the street lost and found?

Is it under the carpet your feet scrape?

Out the window your curtains drape?

Is it written, meant to be, or just fate?

Is it something that your mind can create?

Lost with the lint in your pocket?

Swimming in space, gone like a rocket?

Running through the woods with Davie Crocket?

Or hanging like a noose in a heart-shaped locket?

Is it in the broken promises of politician’s tale?

At the bottom of a belly of a humpback whale?

Soaring on the edge of a riptide gale?

Sounding in the notes of a Major scale?

Written with an F on the tests you seem to fail?

Crawling slowly on the back of a lost snail?

Chewing on the bag of chips long gone stale?

Or stuffed in your coffin pounded shut by a hammer and nail?

Is it left in the magic bus of Alexander Supertramp?

Burning the oil of your midnight lamp?

Raised to eleven on your ten-volt amp?

Sleeping in the tent of your 3 rd world camp?

Let out in the rain that makes your hair feel damp?

Swimming in the ocean of your stomach cramp?

Down with a left hook delivered by the champ?

Or delivered in a bottled message with no postage stamp?

You ask world leaders, late night readers

The beatniks, the lefties, the righties,

The jokers, the fallen, the Johns, and the Jacks

All the people who fell below life’s cracks

You ask the one who comes before the fall

The girl in the red dress dressed for the ball

The independent thinkers who either think too much or not at all

You ask America wondering why she doesn’t return your call

You sleep alone at night with these thoughts

These demons the light never caught

This emptiness that fills the parking lot

This salvation that cannot be bought

This feeling that burns too hot

You know there’s something out there you’re not

Struggling to put together the pieces of what you’ve got

You still try to unravel life’s golden knot

They ask you to dam rivers with pebbles

Take down mountains with knives

Candy coat ugliness with good taste

Instead of staring it straight in the face

Smile at the world while it frowns upon you

Take the red pill if the blue won’t do

Solve global problems with local donations

While money is the God of all of creation

You’re looking for hope, a word, a clue

Something not easily found inside you

That makes everything worth living, fighting, and dying for

When you have it in your grip you know there’s nothing more

Something that rights the unnecessary wrong

Found on the train of a Woody Guthrie song

Passing towns where the tracks don’t run along

When you hear it loud, you know you finally belong

You’re looking for answers in a feeling

In a place where children aren’t bred for killing

In empty fields where machines keep tilling

In broken freezers where time is chilling

In the back pocket of a comic book villain

In a godless place where sinners are willing

In the spilled blood of America’s pie filling

But I guarantee you won’t find it

. . . in a world without Bob Dylan