There they are!
A few glimmering words, circling the inside of my skull
I reach… Pluck… Pluck… Pluck
Butterflies churn and excitement grows stirring me from near slumber
Something new to be born as the stars circle overhead.
You cannot grasp them.
Your tongue is swollen and thick from too much use
Your body aches from a endless maddening hustle
And your fingers dare not toil at their sacred assemblage
Look at how they shimmer!
They are bright in the dark that they will arrange themselves as oceans often do
They caress me in all the right ways
And I long for their knowledge, their truth
I cannot ignore their cultivation.
Weep for hours on end for they will not flow from your lips or fingertips
They will leave you a widow, after a lifetime of promises,
Moaning at all your loss
And then, kick you to the shadows where you will linger long waiting for a promised sun
That never shines
But I must!
For what else is to be done now at this late hour?
The clock maddens my mind with it’s ticking taunts
What fruit could this debate lay naked and open
It is best to embrace when the eyes will not close
I submit to their shimmer and ally myself to their cause.
That is where you will find yourself,
Outside the door of an illustrious mansion, hearing the clambering and laughter of guests.
But with no key for entry. In vein you will jostle the doorknob.
Lusting after them with no passage.
You chase in vein fool, how many have you plucked?
Oh my good sir,
I have plucked them all in argument.
I have found peace in your taunts.
They are settled, nestling against my heart.
And they are alive.