"nothin' stays if it's gotta go now
you can't get water from a stone, now
sometimes you gotta think about the things you're gonna love
you can point the finger at him
you can say you're sufferin' from a sin
somehow a never was,
never was
good enough..."
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Thank you to Stygian Blue for the feedback!
Turn Off the Lights, I Want To Go Home in The Fog— A poem of San Francisco through the eyes a Vietnam vet, a city in turmoil, delirium following the tragedy at Kent State and the waning pillars, tenets of a counterculture, once so radiant, so bursting to the seams with light, a sort of hope that struck, snared so many budding hearts in the late 60s and compelled people by the dozens to flock, starting from the Summer of Love in 1967, sometimes with nothing but a mandolin and a handful of dimes in tow—slowly receding, being engulfed by a bleak-barbituate fueled scene of half-filled visions.