The Barbaric Yawp

(the OctoPriMo writing prompt for today was to write about a favorite scene from a movie. Mine is from "Dead Poets' Society) 

sweaty palms, musty air 

breathed by students for the 

last two hundred years 

recirculated for the next group

he sits up front, yet is 

sure that no one can see him 

invisible, unimpressive 

not the One Expected to Do Great Things 

he adjusts his tie that is 

cutting off his oxygen or is 

it the knowledge that he is here 

to become someone he is not  

he slumps in shame afraid 

to admit he didn't do the work 

he tried, he worked, he ached 

but the words of his soul 

weren't worth repeating  

every day he is bumped along 

against the shoulders of the Future Doctor 

Future Lawyer all tied up in suits and 

ties and polished shoes 

he repeats words that fall like 

dust on his tongue, words his father 

treasures but evoke no passion 

no heart no life for him 

be a man not an amoeba

Seize the Day 

just rubbish, he sighs 

sweeping the dreams out of 

the corners of his heart 

he must be clean he must...  

sitting there, shrinking, dying 

the weight of institutions, of society 

of his Parents or some benign God 

invoked reverently at meals 

bear down him 

he can't breathe 

surely he's going to die 

because living is so hard 

he believes everything inside of him 

is worthless 

as the spotlight shines in his 

darkness, publicizing his shame 

his terror his failure 

the varnish on the old desk 

sticks to his clothes 

his chest constricts as he's pulled 

out of his darkened room where it 

is safe and he's propelled into being seen

and viewed as the Other Son 

misfit, crazy, pushing against institutions 

and structure and stabililty 

dancing on the edge of madness 

challenging decorum and tradition 

the man pulls and pulls

holding him firmly 

pushing his face to look up 

at the picture of 

the Mad Man, the Misfit 

the One who'd seen the horrors of war 

and shoved the words, the truth in faces

that turned away  

degenerate, angry, daring, 

trampling on the storage places of 

the grapes of wrath 

o captain, my captain 

seize the day this moment 

all time suspended clocks stop 

the universe holds it's breath 

the din of the masses are silenced 

Uncle Walt in his grave turns to see 

the desperate souls longing, aching to be 

born into who they are, the misfits 

the artists, the lovers all longing to be free

the madman dances with him, pulls 

his song out of his soul with his eyes closed 

spinning, swirling, seeing only the Now 

This Moment, This Breath 

it is yours we are listening for 

your unique verse, your part in the grand play 

that holy second when you dance free 

without fear to the rythm of who you are 

as he spins, his heart breaks free the tie

is loosened and he feels like he could fly 

he opens his eyes and people are watching, 

watching him come to life, watching him be born 

he is alive

seize the day, boys, seize the day 

the old man whispers from the earth

seize the day