A Lament for Los Angeles
(A poem)
La’s a wild place; a dream and a nightmare.
A city of tragedy and fantasy.
A city of Angels, beset by the devil.
I often wonder, will the antichrist rise up out of Watts or Beverly Hills?
Will the Spirit of Christ descend in Hollywood Hills like a dove?
Or will Lucifer pitch his tent towards Pico Blvd?
Will the great whore of Babylon take the stage of the TCL theatre and enrapture us with a song?
Or will Elijah be born again on skid row?
Will the brown sands of Venice Beach turn into blood?
Or will the streets of Sunset Blvd be paved with gold?
Will the beast and his image compel those granite halls of city hall to worship?
Or will the sinners of Bel’Air repent like Ninevah?
One thing I know for certain…
La, devours it’s young and praises it’s elders.
So strengthen your feeble knees, beat back your tired gaze, because La is a wild place.
So when you’re feeling down, and your heart stinks of doom…recover from the dark and show them all your spark.
Dedicated to artists who died of gunfire, suicide, alcohol…or a broken heart.