Tis a fury that spurs me
to heights beyond
this herd of sheep.

It is my arrogance in knowing
that gift I have been showing
should be recognized
by my peers
to whom I am barely
peripheral scenery.

The well of anger
swells in danger,
giving me dark pleasures,
pushing me to be better,
while lesser
beings sleepwalk
through their daylight scenes.

It seems
that no one really wants
a unique human being
at least not in my vicinity.
They prefer the obscenity
of a banal mind.

So, the theological,
and astrological,
tarot reading,
flat earth breeding,
pollutant seeding,
masses turn me seething.
Till, red froth
fills my good nature.

I push on,
continuing in curiosity
to see how far
poetical philosophy
will carry me.
Hopefully it will be
to my grave
and years beyond
in literary acclaim.

But, I think most likely
like the lite night breeze
both me and my work
will die alone in the dark,
cold, and unnamed.