Where have the real hippies gone?

bed-peace

Marches against the “Man”,
Demands for peace and love,
sidetracked by other people’s plans.
Manicured fingers, hungry hearts.
The vulture ate the dove.

Youth stares back at you,
despising the complacency,
of vanquished heroes,
Plastic crowns, hazy skies,
and wars multiplied ten times.

An old record plays.
Your heart stirs,
Remembering an oasis in the midst of crazy,
life’s persistent demands held at bay,
before you yielded, and
your wooden beads became gilded.
Soul dust lines your ashtrays.

 

 

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