Infant Vanity Vol 4/16

-- This was improvised, I didn't really invest as much time as I should have to make this poem worth reading --

Illustrating his hollow eyes

By the whirlpool of shifting black,

The Caduceus hue resides

In the clippings of his back;

Eternal boy, cast to the Sun

Genuflects to nothing but air;

Artificial light as his Son,

Breathing parched heat from Dawn’s young pipe;

Sylvan’s are squeezed at the low waist

And, typically, time causes a rouse

From either side of the Jade waste;

He squeals to the red and white rose,

With a thousand eyes glaring back,

Where the secrets he would find

Whisper in wanton tears of black

‘Time has no end, but a child’s mind,

Your life stems from mortality

For you have never grown or aged;

Though sound in all it’s clarity

Has not yet sieged, only waged

Tin lice, bouncing from action’s thought

From your scalp: seeking all stuck life

And ebbs useless offerings brought

By that hiding boy playing strife —

Understanding doesn’t withstand

Without laws of man’s natured eye,

Evolved his grey platter to land,

These laws are Faith, sense and cruel love

The bindings of the truth as lie,

Maturity’s seed is boredom,

So time, a reposed symphony

Pressured by winds of disbelief,

— Opposition is harmony

And the scourger of all relief

Bide the law you ordained yourself

In infancy, the infinite self’

Dionsyus placed a palm on his shoulder,

And to in May, his beauty grew no older;

But lying in the hand of his wrinkled palm

Was birth’s inscription, his mother’s severed Pslam!