Today, not unlike any other mind you,
I seek through creaking grounds some
Respite from my headache.
And ache it does,
Like a great gong signaling a Chinese feast,
Following with sounds of screams and pounding feet.
They fall and shatter, these glass globes of crystallized thought.
The cogs are frozen over once again, and
When the wheels attempt to churn, they crack
Like spinning plates of china.
Sister or mister,
God kiss whichever soul heals my head.
Prescribe me something, Doctor.
Anything, Dear Doctor.
Have me lay as you inject my pain away.
Help me to sleep, as you sleep.
Help me to die, as you die.
O Lord, what a thing am I that I may call myself I,
As if I could be anything other than an I in the great eye
Of my stormy amalgamation of mind-shards?
What's that?
Who's there?
Is Papa knocking on my skull again?
Oh Papa, you know you can't come out now.
Leave me be, go to sleep.
It is not the season for reason, fellow men. In fact, it is the crux of the issue at hand. Smash it to pieces, that boring ball of reason. Every man must each shatter it inside himself so that he may be called a true man of the Everyman. A fork in the eye, a chip of the tooth; we possess no such primordial flaws. Follow me into the void, leave yourself behind. Drift simply. Simply be.
O Storm, hold me.
Wind, blow me.
Mountain, mold me.
Farmer, grow me.
Lover, loathe me.
Teacher, show me.
Father, know me,
For my head is most holy.
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Comments2
Ethan, I'm impressed. Such a great work. Awesome write and I'm happy to know that you were here playing as an actor in a role. Thanks God, other ways I would be sad.
Your poem is so complex, possessing many aspects that unify it together. I can tell that you are well-read in the classics of European and American literature. You usage of words is very advanced and you show much talent. Please, do keep writing!
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