tommy's ghost
09/14/09, 01:57 PM
I am cryptically vain, just as certain as this begins with “I.”
I am a figment of reality’s imagination
Written by an angel-dust hand as elaborate fiction.
I’m destined to jump through Saturn’s rings,
To pick the cosmic seraphs’ dandruff from its geometric tresses
And sprinkle it on sheets of hydraulic presses;
Refined and redefined universal content
Interpreted by I,
Icarus’s Amendment.
I am defined by my lack of definition,
A canvas of artistic omissions.
Due to this sea of ambiguity,
I’m as a Gray as the shade of my perpetuity;
For, you see, I am cursed to immortality
In lieu of expiring in less than my entirety:
It is more than obvious to me
That my mind’s to wander for centuries.
Alas, my true fear is for thee,
Thou who art queen of my strawberry dreams,
Thou who art my match in the vanilla sky,
Swimming against the lysergic lye.
I fear only for thee,
Not out of selflessness,
But of selfishness;
For thou art what tethers me
To my humanity.
Thou art what giveth me an iota of meaning,
The only meaning worth defining.
In thy absence, I fall to the briar patch,
An egg with no warmth to hatch.
The only fear I otherwise harbor,
Is that of less weight, but is still my captor.
I fear the drought of vocabulary,
To run dry the well of words.
It would make of me a knight with no sword,
A surrealist sans th’ absurd,
A cage without a bird.
However,
Does the knight require weaponry?
Perchance he could finally be at peace.
Does the surrealist need absurdity?
Perchance he could stop melting clocks.
Must the cage swallow the bird?
Perhaps it should allow it to be free,
To paint the skies with a swath feathers,
To sing the mornings into existence,
To hatch the warmth of being.
Perhaps it is better to lower the scalpel.
Perhaps it is better to leave alone the chapel.
Perhaps I am too human.
No.
I am as purple as the template I lose myself in,
As dynamic as the shape of my incarcerating rings,
As eager as the reader of my sins:
The cosmic seraph who scratches his head.
I am Gray,
A star in the lavender swirls of the unraveling universe
Searching for itself in its own light-year.
I am a figment of reality’s imagination
Written by an angel-dust hand as elaborate fiction.
I’m destined to jump through Saturn’s rings,
To pick the cosmic seraphs’ dandruff from its geometric tresses
And sprinkle it on sheets of hydraulic presses;
Refined and redefined universal content
Interpreted by I,
Icarus’s Amendment.
I am defined by my lack of definition,
A canvas of artistic omissions.
Due to this sea of ambiguity,
I’m as a Gray as the shade of my perpetuity;
For, you see, I am cursed to immortality
In lieu of expiring in less than my entirety:
It is more than obvious to me
That my mind’s to wander for centuries.
Alas, my true fear is for thee,
Thou who art queen of my strawberry dreams,
Thou who art my match in the vanilla sky,
Swimming against the lysergic lye.
I fear only for thee,
Not out of selflessness,
But of selfishness;
For thou art what tethers me
To my humanity.
Thou art what giveth me an iota of meaning,
The only meaning worth defining.
In thy absence, I fall to the briar patch,
An egg with no warmth to hatch.
The only fear I otherwise harbor,
Is that of less weight, but is still my captor.
I fear the drought of vocabulary,
To run dry the well of words.
It would make of me a knight with no sword,
A surrealist sans th’ absurd,
A cage without a bird.
However,
Does the knight require weaponry?
Perchance he could finally be at peace.
Does the surrealist need absurdity?
Perchance he could stop melting clocks.
Must the cage swallow the bird?
Perhaps it should allow it to be free,
To paint the skies with a swath feathers,
To sing the mornings into existence,
To hatch the warmth of being.
Perhaps it is better to lower the scalpel.
Perhaps it is better to leave alone the chapel.
Perhaps I am too human.
No.
I am as purple as the template I lose myself in,
As dynamic as the shape of my incarcerating rings,
As eager as the reader of my sins:
The cosmic seraph who scratches his head.
I am Gray,
A star in the lavender swirls of the unraveling universe
Searching for itself in its own light-year.