thirty-five years ago
early in the morning
driving east into the sun
i heard on the radio
john lennon's days were done
i squinted like a baby
staring at burning angels
their fire came at me like daggers
their purpose came undone
bullets are not saviors
bullets are not hope
lying on the sidewalk
not a pauper or a pope
john was such a dreamer
but not the only one
the price of bullets fired
the cheapness of a gun
no one built a chapel
no one praised a god
no one rode the spirits
no one gave the priest a nod
no one could remember
no one could explain
no one in that december
would see his like again
no one in that december
would see his like again
*Written in remembrance of an awful day in December of 1980--I lived in Southern California and was unaware of John Lennon's murder until I heard about it on the radio while driving south/southeast on the 405 in southern Orange County.
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