A mariner on the ocean of the eternal,
Looking above the bow,
A panoramic view of the presentation of self,
Nautical boundaries and jurisdictions,
Inhabiting and found,
Consciousness of all,
Abound.

I wish to embrace,
my children's faces,
with these eyes,
burning into memory,
their joyous smiles,
before the fading light,
is finally extinguished,
the dancing stars,
which are their own eyes,
remembered,
held closely,
envisioned,
but for the betrayal,
of time,
giving way to darkness,
and shrouds,
shadows they become,
but for the light of imagination,
and memories,
unforgettable images,
be still,
this disquieted soul,
allow the beautiful to extend,
words are as worlds,
a new place from which soulful expression,
is easily rendered,
imparting magnificence,
to beckoning followers,
and newly found friends.

I want to write about her,
But she lives in other dimensions,
Beyond what I perceive,
She soars high above this plane,
Searching for prey to feed upon,
Occasionally,
She swoops down,
When voracious hunger demands,
To find sustenance in bewildered and beleaguered and lost lambs,
Bleating going unheard and unrecognized cries,
She carries them aloft,
Like the lammergeir,
Dropping their bones,
On the rocks below,
To crack and expose the marrow,
Of which she sustains herself,
A devil indeed from above,
Yet for her flight,
I am envious,
And willingly give into night.

Oh no!
I have just been diagnosed,
With a case of Extreme Stupidity,
My doctor says its probably terminal,
But with advanced methods and invasive procedures,
My chances of survival,
Are, at best, hopeless,
With proper treatment,
And a well-balanced diet,
I should be able to overcome the side-effects of the medication and therapies afforded by the state-run institutions,
And return to a 'normal and happy stupidless life'
There is no family history of this disorder,
But ten-out-of-twelve succumb to it,
So he says,
As I try and do the math,
The manifestation of this illness becomes clear,
Ten of twelve is equal to...umm...let's see...if there were one hundred...divided by...umm...okay wait...say we had twelve...or no ten...hold on...let's round this up to the nearest number...what is thirteen..dividing it by eleven...when chances are...2:1...is that what he said? Oh ****! I am terminal...minus 1.

I've heard mention,
of a choir of angels,
A myriad of angels,
acappella,
Sounding like a thunderous orchestra,
Singing unto the Almighty,
This concept I can understand,
An All-powerful creator,
Would require an amazing soundtrack,
Background vocals of creation,
Filling Him with whelming tears and pride,
Perhaps choking-back tears,
As word became light,
And heaven and earth were created.
I suppose again too,
Like any King,
He would have other court appointees,
A muse perhaps,
To inspire His creations,
A scribe to record His every breath, sigh and description,
At last a jester,
To amuse Him between acts,
A folly,
A clown.
I still exist,
Here, In the mortal realm,
To continue to make the Architect of the Universe,
Laugh His ******* *** off,
As I dance and perform silly tricks,
To amuse and distract Him,
from the serious business,
Of being God.

Climbing the stairs,
Til the water reaches me,
To the attic I retreat,
Til the water reaches me,
clinging tightly to prized possessions,
Til the water reaches me,
unheeded warnings,
Til the water reaches me,
following the surge,
Til the water reaches me,
listening but not hearing,
Til the water reaches me,
Holding tight until the end,
Til the water reaches me,
gulping loud slurps,
When the water reaches me.

At first glimpse,
I shudder,
there is something in your face,
I almost recognize,
It's different now,
More articulate,
your eyes have become hollow and vacant,
Without spirit,
Haunting and hopeless,
no longer being seen as bestowed by a diety,
lifeless,
No longer illuminating a disheartened world,
Seeing too many unfavorable aspects of life,
drawn,
the light which once poured,
nightfall surrounds,
not of ignorance,
but from experience,
the secrecy of these shadows,
the rendered soul,
cause me to visit the unwelcomeness,
that I have known,
twilight touches my face,
as I step away from the mirror,
promising never to return.