The Big Brother became clothed with the eye
Tongues twisted into newspeak and doubled
Thoughts now the crime monitored in Room 101
All to a deviant beginning in 1984
One thousand nine hundred and eighty four heads; the sword counted in victory.
I failed! I failed! It roared and thundered.
A victory; dishonorable, is no victory in history.
It bent itself in two; it is finished; it muttered.
It was Damian’s funeral and Kristine’s tour
When Nina lost her job and paid her fault
And somebody visited when August became an adult
Oh, it just hit me; that was what Tina came for.
The narrative, an intercourse between reality and folklore
When alien stories courted tales of our fathers fore
Freedom’s grip let loose to Uncle Sam’s allure
Chains became jewelry post NINETEEN EIGHTY FOUR
You came too soon to have become yesterday
Lowly to history a mystery beyond two persons one day
Bite off the pages of forgotten, lost and dusty, further than far,
nothing to hold better, no pegs.
You would have not died as these sands would hold no rivers
of vacuum while i am almost four legs.
If i could arrange eighty four nineteens
And remove of the lot only nine-teens
Then teach them about vanity and pipe dreams
Just maybe in my utopian heart, i could reach the remaining seventy five…things
Its pages were old and dog-eared
Each word a day; each page a year
I knew i had been there before
But i still could not find 1984