go on

with your fire extinguisher velcroed along,
with your armour strapped tight to your shoulder
who is starting a song,
who’s composing a song,
who is there by your side when you’re older

if you’ve only been hired to shut down the fires,
just to pack up the axes and matches,
who will help when you tire,
when you stand and admire
all the bruises, abysses and scratches

and the flames will go down. and the fires will cease,
and the music will play for the younger,
the indefinite peace
on condition of lease
will be never enough for their hunger

they may tie down your hands, they may silence your voice,
but they’ll never be able to cancel
every personal choice,
every right to rejoice,
your opinions, and paper, and pencil.