Typical (Poem)

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Opened a book today

A million men died in its pages

A million widows wept, what can I say
A typical account of typical ages

A great river had promise

To make the land rich

They must never miss

The chance to satisfy that itch

Utility’s king

Futility’s felt without building a thing

So goes the ring, so goes the ring

The round circle tight as a noose

Choking the poets

Squeezing the juice

Potential is drained

Yeah you know it’s
The way it’s explained

Very matter of fact

That we must sacrifice

With a haste without tact

For we need things nice

Yet do we really know

What’s nice and what’s ill

What poets, muses, and sages

Are lost in the men that we kill

For the promise of better just slightly
The thing haunts me nightly

So my lamp burns more brightly
Till I see this dross is all gone

Life is a thing both febrile and strong

Both sacred and wrong

So I guard that flame

Doubly sure to maintain the song

For many have died and many are lame

While I have vigor
I’ll recall their name

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