May your sheer brilliance give meaning to this madness
a heading, like a decapitated head
a curious thing, pretty at that.
But missing the rest of everything to it.
Shall I lay it to rest? Asked every voice of reason.
But look at it, just lying there, writhing, squirming;
a beautiful thing. Looking up at me,
demanding to be let out.
What are you, but a but a trinket,
a toy, an ornament, with no purpose;
A heading, with no idea to convey.
A thought with no congruence,
a glimmer in frozen time
as the train of thought roars past,
and through like a whirlwind blow.
After all, I sit at the study, my page blank
The brilliant bleach of the paper, though
seemed dark as obsidian, in its blankness.
And you are just a heading, with no context or cue.
A random gem of an idea, that demands to be let out.
So today, I shall get to work chiseling.
In this candlelight, I shall shape
this dark stone into a formless mass,
and you Shall be the crowning gem.
May your sheer brilliance give meaning to this madness.
Comments
Post a Comment