rapping with wb about the call of destiny

Starbucks cafe, Dawson Street, Dublin.
Ah yes.
Another day, another Starbucks.
The soft light of evening is mellowing the Dublin streets.
Two teenagers are trying to weld their faces together at an outdoor table.
Boots girl sitting near me.
Other customers sipping coffees in desultory anonymity.
I've never been in this particular cafe before.
I like the ambience.
The Boots girl adds a certain je ne sais quoi.
Not one person in this cafe suspects that Ireland's greatest living poet is among them.
The ghost of WB Yeats wanders over to my table and sits down.
Some believe he is Ireland's greatest dead poet.
"Heelers," sez he. "Me and the dead immortals have been talking. You've been Boy Most Likely for too long. It's time you actually sat down and wrote a few new poems."
"What would you guys know about it?" I shot back sourly.
Yeats grinned.
"We're in heaven," he sang suddenly to the tune of an old song called Nevermind. "It's contagious. Here we are now. Entertain us. A Byron. A Keats. A TS Eliott. A Yeats. Write a poem. Write a poem. Write a poem."
"Yeatsie," I cried. "You listen to Nirvana?"
"Hey," quoth he, "we're dead. We owe it to ourselves to live a little."
A bus creaked by the window.
WB Yeats and me watched the passengers disembark.
All human life was there.
A dramatic rainbow of people.
"Another thing," said Yeats breaking the spell. "Your blog has been very angry of late. Lots of anger. You're sending out hate."
"No Yeatsie, I'm writing about hateful things."
"Ah Heelers, do you remember the poem I wrote where I wondered had my plays inspired people to take up violence?"
"I remember."
"There was a line in it: Did that play of mine send out, certain men the English shot? And you yourself Heelers wrote by way of reply that I should have asked myself: Did that play of mine send out certain men who shot English people?"
"What's your point?"
"My point is this. Did that article about terrorism on your blog you wrote, send out certain people who shot at Arab Muslims? Or, did that article on your blog you wrote, send out certain people who got shot by Arab Muslims? Or better yet, did that article on your blog you wrote, create a general feeling of resentment and tension on the streets contributing to spitefulness and anger in the hearts of people you will never know?"
"It doesn't rhyme Yeatsie."
"No Heelers, it doesn't rhyme."