The stain of data and logic
eating its way down to the core,
laying in the soul,
taking up residence in the muddled mind,
the renaissance of the new poetry,
the future language of the common man,
the numbing of the poetic ambiance,
the weight of logical influence
pulling down the air with its burly arms,
its overpowering language
resting on the tongue of the future,
the no progression of the works of man,
the braking of the wheels of evolution,
where poetry is a step by step application
leading to a logical end,
the culmination of facts and figures,
the satisfaction of the mind
and the emptiness of the soul,
where renaissance men answer the call,
their courageous venture into the norm,
their bright colored banners
waving in the immobile air,
their tears streaming down their
emancipated cheeks,
their smiles lighting up the dark shadows,
their arms swinging loose,
their words redefining  logic,
their stories with no ends or beginnings,
the fun they have with data,
the truth, the sort of truth, the new truth,
frolicking with the gravity of truth,
the language of the common man,
the anchor that keeps him
mired to the facts.
All hail to the poet, the renaissance man,
the man with the emancipated smile
smeared upon his heroic face,
who starts at the end and
finishes in the beginning.

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