The Urban Elf

So many people clamor to be heard.
Too many people grabbing for the light,
The mike,
The focus,
The channel.
I think sometimes I know what it’s like
For authors
Or Saint Trudi
And her fractured or prismatic fellows.
Role playing gone awry.
All those people,
Splinters and shards,
Made whole and clamorous beings.
I cannot give them all
The voice they demand.
I cannot give them all
the time they crave.
Incompetent parent or ill-equipped medium
I cannot let them out
Into the world as they command.
Desperate and angry
Burgeoning and eager
Anxious and driven
Stoic and destined;
I cannot let them hijack
The flesh-boat and its munitions.
Disappointment and retribution
Walking hand in hand
Would tread heavily over our shared final place.