Little Silly Digression the 4ourth
I'll be a famous poet one day
and people will recite my words with pleasure
love will fill the hardening winters
where my face will scrape against the shards of wind
carrying my life blood frozen into her crystal shapes.
Upon my face the arsenal will arrive
let loose upon my mask the weathering marks
scars and colours bruised black and red
as the faintest of blood seeps from my lips
blue make haste for the vacant space
replacing.
Then I will look like those whom I will be
old and alone and afraid of the now me
those rambunctious youth with their attitudes
show no respect for the triumphs and loses we've pursued.
Endevors which have devoured our entire sense of peace
replaced with an age of developmental racing to build the best war machine
well I will not be one of those no
ignorance is my foe.
I will be a famous poet one day
and people will say
he never grew up
he never knew how
his mind was lost
to the psychedelic powers.
Entheogenic shapeshifter.
Aren't we all?
We're just waiting to be poets
dancing our songs.