A Neptunian drug-dream wrapped in trappings,
A paper vision of peace and love and rocking roll,
One that fluttered from our fingers,
The moment Viet Nam was surrendered.
But the Capitalists owned the sand it was built upon.
Bubbling at the bottom of millions of souls for decades,
A wispy current floating in the cosmic undermind,
A spice steeping throughout the waters of life.
Boiled to its essence,
Stirred in with Occupying sauce,
Baked in the years of capitalistic cynics,
Boiled down to a brick-hard resolve,
Thrown through the paper walls painted by corporate media.
Tattered gilding in plain sight,
No longer regarded as anything but a weary trick.
Poked his finger through the last vestiges of staged paper,
Said "let us use these bricks to rebuild.
Come warm yourselves by the fire of peaceful resolve.
Walk in love and kindness and the world will too.
Feel The Bern of a kinder and saner world."
A Djinn finally exploded free of the bottle.