Quixotic Dreams Amid the Slumber of Ages
Written by Jonathan Henderson
Tuesday March 25, 2014
Years pass, and I toke my grass, the hippie within speaks
And you lend to me your right ear, cautiously an optimist,
Crying for reasons in a realm where we dare not claim so
Much as a twitch nor scratch of this apparition of a frailty
Where one is expected to never stop at the tracks nor ever
To pass go, and so the story goes, the moon, the sun, etc.
But if I ramble along, opining as I do of a universe to speak
Where the sun never sets upon the empire of one, the state
Sovereignty where you and I may be free, to allow to just
"Be," to just decry of fallibility and the imperfections never
To die, only to multiply, of a humanity only perfect due to
Its predestined state of collapse beneath the weight of itself.
The burden you and I bear will never be abridged, mitigated.
For you, Blue, I cry a sweet sigh, the tears which shed tell
If I am to do or just die, and my love for the zest of milk
And honey may be tasted only in my quixotic dreams amid
The slumber of age, the span a cosmos' ride through bleak
Skies ridden by Sirens' cries for a sweet summer ride along
The schooner towards the twilight of your sunrise's desire.
No comments:
Post a Comment