themerrypapist

Hylomorphic Dysphoria

My flesh is lying prostrate in this bed;

My mind is sparking like a wire stripped;

The night is trembling on the knife-point’s edge

Of mutating to morning.

I feel that, in this inability

To sleep, to even find the doors of

Morpheus,

I’m traipsing down the primrose path

That leads direct to madness…

And in these suburbs of my sanity,

I find the most intriguing inspirations.

Ambition, vaulting plans, incredible

Decisions made about the future Earth,

The fates of unborn peoples, and

The likelihood of passing through the stars.

The matrix of my musing thought

Expands in ever-wid’ning, breathless laps,

Encompassing foundations for the Good,

And laughing at presumptions of the wise.

My soul is soaring, seraph-like,

Illuminated and but semi-sane –

How dare you call this sleepless body mine,

One hundred sixty pounds

And without wings?

Comments3

  • Ecelis20

    When I see this, I think of the really classic poetry. I've got not words, because this is really outstanding!!!

  • Lorna

    You are a soul with wings!

  • Lorna

    You are a soul with wings! I'm trying to figure out how to mark you as a "favorite poet" but can't so far!



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