I got this idea I'd write you a poem,
One you could read sitting safely at home,
Or keep with you, out and about while you roam.
Some kind of impassioned ballad,
Celebrating all the things I held sacred,
A mirror to illuminate this sky that I’ve painted.
So I laced up my heart, and I shrugged on my soul,
I popped open my noggin, and I went for a stroll,
Right down Memory Lane, and left at the Rabbit Hole.
I kept on 'til I hit a velvet rope with posts of brass,
But I musta gotten too close to the bulletproof glass,
'Cause a big grumpy guard threw me out on my...
I realized, still rolling, it's all one massive museum,
Motionless memories mummified so I can keep 'em,
Lined up and locked away, as if they could be stolen.
Arduously ordered—organized for instant access,
A mental palace fit to make Sherlock get jealous,
That Dewey Decimal dude's got nothin' on this.
The slides replay every minute on the minute,
Time-compressed, Tetrised-in, so each moment fits,
Laser light shows engraving insignias inside my eyelids.
Tear-rusty gears grinding waterlogged cogs in reverse,
This melancholy machine, made to reflect you in verse,
Portrays a planetarium, perpetually projecting my universe.
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 5:43 AM UTC
I got this idea I'd write you a poem,
One you could read sitting safely at home,
Or keep with you, out and about while you roam.
Some kind of impassioned ballad,
Celebrating all the things I held sacred,
A mirror to illuminate this sky that I’ve painted.
So I laced up my heart, and I shrugged on my soul,
I popped open my noggin, and I went for a stroll,
Right down Memory Lane, and left at the Rabbit Hole.
I kept on 'til I hit a velvet rope with posts of brass,
But I musta gotten too close to the bulletproof glass,
'Cause a big grumpy guard threw me out on my...
I realized, still rolling, it's all one massive museum,
Motionless memories mummified so I can keep 'em,
Lined up and locked away, as if they could be stolen.
Arduously ordered—organized for instant access,
A mental palace fit to make Sherlock get jealous,
That Dewey Decimal dude's got nothin' on this.
The slides replay every minute on the minute,
Time-compressed, Tetrised-in, so each moment fits,
Laser light shows engraving insignias inside my eyelids.
Tear-rusty gears grinding waterlogged cogs in reverse,
This melancholy machine, made to reflect you in verse,
Portrays a planetarium, perpetually projecting my universe.
I made it home before I began, but forgot to start,
Which makes me a little sad, but paradoxically, it's the best part,
Because nothing I could say would rival the poem in my heart.
© 04/20/21 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved
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