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the-marcellianPoems
Let me make it clear. I am a shell of my former self. The raindrop, unformed, to be denied the pull of gravity. But, if I close my eyes, I can see divine assertions of my former glory; to be divulged and distributed to everyone but myself. Should I trust my senses when all that's manifested are insane twists of mind, mazes lost in translation, compasses circling upon themselves, leading to unsettled destinations, winding roads and battered shores with waves eradicating bits of my character? When the floods come, will we assign to the ark creation two by two? Will we wait until the storm passes? Behold me, the solitary man! Behold me, a true island, etched from rock by the continous chisel of earth's blood! Vegetation untouched, lacking maturity. Earth unwalked, lacking integrity. Air uninspired, lacking humanity. But, if I close my eyes, I can see the universe's plan for my destiny, placed on the shelf of life, dusty and fossilized, unmapped and unread. I am not as I should be, resisting the best within me. Is it too late? For me? For me to retain my inheritance? How will I find Polaris? The skies remain murky by the fog I have created. Who will help me navigate? Or will I continue to be the lost treasure undiscovered?
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Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Polaris Undiscovered
Let me make it clear. I am a shell of my former self. The raindrop, unformed, to be denied the pull of gravity. But, if I close my eyes, I can see divine assertions of my former glory; to be divulged and distributed to everyone but myself. Should I trust my senses when all that's manifested are insane twists of mind, mazes lost in translation, compasses circling upon themselves, leading to unsettled destinations, winding roads and battered shores with waves eradicating bits of my character? When the floods come, will we assign to the ark creation two by two? Will we wait until the storm passes? Behold me, the solitary man! Behold me, a true island, etched from rock by the continous chisel of earth's blood! Vegetation untouched, lacking maturity. Earth unwalked, lacking integrity. Air uninspired, lacking humanity. But, if I close my eyes, I can see the universe's plan for my destiny, placed on the shelf of life, dusty and fossilized, unmapped and unread. I am not as I should be, resisting the best within me. Is it too late? For me? For me to retain my inheritance? How will I find Polaris? The skies remain murky by the fog I have created. Who will help me navigate? Or will I continue to be the lost treasure undiscovered?
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the-marcellian
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
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