a wind blew
from within my body
and tried to blow out
the Sun.
it huffed
and it puffed
but it could not blow
that immense house
down;
that great,
vast,
fiery idol
which stands as a monument to
the immensity of the Universe.
I have no idea why
it wanted the Sun
to go out,
I just know
it is the only way
to save myself
for we all have
our own idols within
ourselves,
bright and brilliantly
conceited flames
that just need to be
blown out
every so often.
this flame burns upon
the chest of the devil,
that evil and most vain lake of desire.
tongues of fire form
islands of
delusional self worth
convince themselves of
their large and grand importance
isolated and
surrounded by a sea
of themselves.
it burns within
the bitter bottle,
releasing its stinging vapors
upon the breaking of the seal.
these humors drift up
and into my nostrils,
coalesce in my lungs and
concentrate
into a fiery wind.
it burns within
my naive soul,
desperately needing a new-grateful
wind
to blow it
out
and quench its thirst
for immensity.
despite the irritation
I needn't have water,
wandering in the desert of myself.
to deny myself
all the comforts of a good life
and to reward myself
all the glories of an elevated mind
is what is most important;
I pinch my fingers
to blot out the Sun,
hiding that horrible light
behind my clasped together
fingers.
I replace it with a new monument,
an idol to
the things that have
shaped me,
given me this
gift of
silent reflection,
to wander in the sands
of introspective madness
until I come out
a prophet
or
a walking death.