Something stirs inside its bed
That will not leave its words unsaid
Something from between the shadows
Something ancient, it's in my head
And it's asking me to let it live.
At first, it's just a tickle
But when it's at first ignored,
It soon begins to roar,
Demanding its presence be known
Demanding its right to be heard
And, as a seed, its right to be sown
Inside my head, it churns
And in my heart, it burns
And so it is I know
That I must think this one over:
I must let the ancient creature have its say.
While it enumerates itself to me,
I weigh its features carefully:
How clever is it?
Clever enough, I suppose.
Is it insightful?
Not terribly, but
I don't think this one needs to be.
Realistically, how useful would it be?
Well, it seems that,
Certainly, it could get the job done.
With the verdict now at hand,
It's obvious what must be done.
I must let the ancient thing free,
Though, admittedly,
I'm not sure it'll be too much fun.
But then again, of course,
Fun can't ALWAYS be the top priority.
So, as a farmer in his field,
Working hard to plant the seeds,
I set myself about my task,
Difficult though it's sure to be.
And as I help the ancient thing,
Working hard to become
What it was always meant to be,
I have to wonder
If, when all is said and done,
And this newborn idea has become reality,
I wonder if it's too much to hope
That, because of it,
And so, in part, because of me
Is it too much to hope that we,
That I and this ancient creature,
This new idea that I've unleashed,
Is it too much to hope
That we might bring the world a tiny bit of beauty?
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 11:25 AM UTC
Something stirs inside its bed
That will not leave its words unsaid
Something from between the shadows
Something ancient, it's in my head
And it's asking me to let it live.
At first, it's just a tickle
But when it's at first ignored,
It soon begins to roar,
Demanding its presence be known
Demanding its right to be heard
And, as a seed, its right to be sown
Inside my head, it churns
And in my heart, it burns
And so it is I know
That I must think this one over:
I must let the ancient creature have its say.
While it enumerates itself to me,
I weigh its features carefully:
How clever is it?
Clever enough, I suppose.
Is it insightful?
Not terribly, but
I don't think this one needs to be.
Realistically, how useful would it be?
Well, it seems that,
Certainly, it could get the job done.
With the verdict now at hand,
It's obvious what must be done.
I must let the ancient thing free,
Though, admittedly,
I'm not sure it'll be too much fun.
But then again, of course,
Fun can't ALWAYS be the top priority.
So, as a farmer in his field,
Working hard to plant the seeds,
I set myself about my task,
Difficult though it's sure to be.
And as I help the ancient thing,
Working hard to become
What it was always meant to be,
I have to wonder
If, when all is said and done,
And this newborn idea has become reality,
I wonder if it's too much to hope
That, because of it,
And so, in part, because of me
Is it too much to hope that we,
That I and this ancient creature,
This new idea that I've unleashed,
Is it too much to hope
That we might bring the world a tiny bit of beauty?