Down below
Entrenched in a trench
Of barnacles, sea cucumbers
Denizens of moist seas
Lies a single figure
In the form of a statue
The symbol of a man, looking toward the sky
Hopeful expression, rusted by nature
An idealist at rock bottom, lying to himself, in wake

Members of death
A deathbed loses its sting
Once death takes over
Maybe, you sought not for death
But for rest
Yet, you still seek death
For once your rest ends, frantic life remains
Permanent rest, sweet in nature
But once it take hold, a bitter center

If I became
The king of the universe
Would I care for those who reside in it?
All power, all in my palm
Able to reset everything, to dust...
...
If I had a family
Would I care for them?
If I had a son...
Would I want him to live?
If I had a loved one...
Would I care for their single ounce of affection?
If I had anyone...
Would they care about me?
Can I have a typical life...
If I know the reality of it?

Stars, planets, asteroids, comets
All know their place
So, why am I the stranger...
Amidst a crowd of friendly faces?

I honor the beach
Yet abhor the heat
Could it be, personal preference?
Or no longer, enjoying warmth?

A creator
Must have a drive
An optimistic outlook, one who strives:

To change
To evolve
To fix

But much like fire
A creator can create, or effectively destroy

No matter the delusion
There will be those who

Die for it
Sacrifice for it
Hope for it

We all have delusions
Some are aware of them
Others never correct them
Above all else:
The ancient art of trickery
Ceases to end, bitter, like chicory

Radiant, cool eyes
Freezing surfaces
With a single glance
Petrification, at an instant
The desire to bond, constant
Not possible, mutant