A candid note to Walt Whitman

Piles of your yesterdays are growing higher as I walk this road alone.
I kick through what we both don’t understand but to what we relate.
Piles of successes, suffocating god.
I exist within the most significant day ever – my day.
Piles of you exist around me – some blocking my path.
If you are the present, can you be the past?
I trample you, not out of malice –
I have nowhere else to step-
I exist during the most congested time ever –
Piles of you exist all around me –
Through denouncement, you have become the rule.
You are what you never wanted to be – hats are removed to you.
You are a burden to the soil and soul – reexamination to the meter and rhyme.
You impede my travel.
Piles of you, tangible and spiritual, bring praise and despise.
I gently scape you from my boot –
I leave you to the soil –
I teach you.
Piles of you will continue to build,
In future generation minds,
Along the pathways of tomorrow.
Piles of romance – of your written day,
Piles that bury the beauty of candor.

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