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john-ashton-upstonPoems
I seek greatness, Not perfection but Something more. I want jagged edges, And symmetry long broken. I want rhythm and beat, rhyming galore, but flowing, so fleet, off the tongue of my keyboard, into your minds, drilled bore never to be filled but left void, never to be lit up or explored save by my depravity, the wanton insanity that is my quest for eternality, for remembrance for the suddenness by which a heart attack do prance tip toeing around your soul, twisting it in, and lithely make you beg for the encore, even still won't be satisfied, I'll become who I am, The best version of myself, Ravenous, more, than any lion, Tiger, or engorged man, Nay, even if I look down upon highest perch, like The Raven itself, Even if Poe himself, were to raise up again, Weeping, claiming oh, John, your poetry, Nay, your beating, has me breathing, Still will I deny that drum, Even then will I be empty, and so this emotion that I am releasing, Will self servedly do nothing, You can not destroy that which is not living, Only close your eyes, and forget quickly, For if you let my greatness roam, Oh upon your shoulders I will loan, my delicious insanity upon the world, And the toll my greatness, shall collect, will be worth more than all the gold. And I'll simply just, waste it away, In search of some greatness, greater still! Some vision, some sign, that is meaningless except, like happiness, In the pursuit, never to be found.
0
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
Greatness
I seek greatness, Not perfection but Something more. I want jagged edges, And symmetry long broken. I want rhythm and beat, rhyming galore, but flowing, so fleet, off the tongue of my keyboard, into your minds, drilled bore never to be filled but left void, never to be lit up or explored save by my depravity, the wanton insanity that is my quest for eternality, for remembrance for the suddenness by which a heart attack do prance tip toeing around your soul, twisting it in, and lithely make you beg for the encore, even still won't be satisfied, I'll become who I am, The best version of myself, Ravenous, more, than any lion, Tiger, or engorged man, Nay, even if I look down upon highest perch, like The Raven itself, Even if Poe himself, were to raise up again, Weeping, claiming oh, John, your poetry, Nay, your beating, has me breathing, Still will I deny that drum, Even then will I be empty, and so this emotion that I am releasing, Will self servedly do nothing, You can not destroy that which is not living, Only close your eyes, and forget quickly, For if you let my greatness roam, Oh upon your shoulders I will loan, my delicious insanity upon the world, And the toll my greatness, shall collect, will be worth more than all the gold. And I'll simply just, waste it away, In search of some greatness, greater still! Some vision, some sign, that is meaningless except, like happiness, In the pursuit, never to be found.
john-ashton-upston
Written by
john-ashton-upston
American
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
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