Recently the last male northern white rhino had to be put down. Although, there are several female northern white rhino’s still alive, they have no way of carrying on the species. Thus, the inevitable fate of the northern white rhino, is sadly, extinction. This made me think about the choices we make that “fence us in”, mostly because society says to be successful, you must get married, have children and buy property. And society looks at those who choose to remain free, as somehow less valuable.
The Last White Rhino ~ Billy J Barnard
A beat.
For those who sold their souls for security of roofs over heads and unions of like minds.
Like the last white rhino, captive beasts, never again having to contemplate the what, or when, or why, or how.
Who with daily feeding and sure copulation trade the wild running plain for contentment of secure bars and watchful eyes.
And, giving up the “I”, never question the jailer’s intent, but with jealous and harsh judgment condemn those who choose to remain free.
Or.
For those who still have dreams.
Who smoke with windows open, and gaze out at the expanse.
Who while desperately trying to fly, feel the sharp jerk at the end of a chain called responsibility.
And with anonymous tears hold their departure, with infinite, indefinite melancholy.
Who, like Kerouac, wish to leave the sad Beaulieu, to ride in empty boxes, sharing bottles with hobos.
Kerouac, who traded one team with sure goals, for a team filled with bohemian players, with names like Ginsberg, “The Howler”, and Burroughs, “The Day Tripper”.
Prophets of Beat, who led a lost generation, with chants of why.
Or.
For those who soberly watch Amazonian colors with no access to secret governmental drugs,
as if that would have made sense of what they, themselves have had exchanged in the bargain.
Feeling their spirit drawn toward the setting sun.
Who wonder if it is time to chase muses up 66 routes, leading to legal escape, under watchful eyes of peaks, and peeks around curvy climbs, with hopes of finding like souls.
Still knowing the hopelessness of endangered species.
A beat.
To ask if we will resign ourselves to the inevitable fate of the last white rhino.
Or.
With courage and optimism, stop asking if today is the day to run free.
Prose
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This piece is the perfect example of me wanting to sit and meditate on it more and not having the time. Your writing is beautiful and I have learned much from it, so thanks. I don’t know if it was because my lack of ignorance, but I got lost in the middle section a bit, possibly because I didn’t know who you were referring to when you spoke of “Amazonian colors” and all that. But even with me being lost a little I still saw where an artist was at work. I know that you were carefully considering diction and word placement. I also enjoyed the paragraph structure, it made me feel like I was reading a rhymed story.
In conclusion, well done. And because of this I am forced to consider if I am the caged white rhino.
Thank you for your comment. I’ll tell you that while I wish, “Amazonian colors” had some extremely deep meaning, I was watching a movie on Amazon Prime while I was writing the first version of this. So in that sense, it does have some meaning. Maybe how much time we waste watching TV. Using TV as a pacifier, when we really should be out there in the world. Your comment makes me think I should work on that paragraph, so people don’t get lost. I’ll see what I can do.
One last note; Beaulieu is the name of Kerouac’s boyhood home. He often called it “Sad Beaulieu”.
Oh sweet. Thanks for replying back. Makes sense now.