The Last White Rhino

A beat for those who sold their souls for security of roofs over heads and unions of like minds. Never again having to contemplate the what, or when, or why, or how.

Who with daily feeding and sure copulation, trade the wild running plain for contentment of secure bars and watchful eyes. Never questioning the jailers intent.

Or for those who still chase dreams and smoke with windows open. Ogling the expanse, trying to keep their feet from flight.

Who struggle with Ginsburg and Kerouac, and plagiarize style, creators of beat and prophets of their own time.

Or for those who soberly watch Amazonian colors with no access to secret governmental drugs, as if that would have made sense of what they, themselves have exchanged in the bargain.

Who wonder if it is time to chase muses up 66 routes, leading to legal escape, under watchful eyes of peaks, and peeks around curvy climbs, with hopes of finding like souls, knowing the hopelessness of endangered species.

And with resentful sobriety contemplate the security of the last white rhino and who will lay claim to that fateful horn.

This poem is about: 
Our world

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