A Declaratoin of Independence from the Ghost of Jonathon Swift
A Declaration of Independence from the Ghost of Jonathon Swift
*written by Jessica Thompson (one of my favorite amateur poets)*
Maybe you didn't know,
But PMS isn't just when girls get goobery and start guzzling chocolate.
Somehow those emotional highs and lows tap deep into the flows of your unconscious thought.
And there, in the dark dripping darkness grow the truths
The human mind will not acknowledge, knowing it
Too profound or too disturbing to prove palatable.
And so unseen it touches only traces of intangible emotion.
For me this cycle of the moon brought me uncommon revelation
When I found inside myself a well of anger at the world.
A seething, acid, bitter, burning anger at the world
And the minotaur I'd chained inside my breast was beating outward,
And every headline, every heartache that I heard was eating inward,
And this school, my wings and shackles, only offered me achievement,
And Theseus, the hope that guides my heart had just been vanquished,
And in my poetry I'm screaming what the minotaur had whispered
While disillusionment besieged the meager fortress in my mind until it gave,
And let my rage run rampant all that Monday.
And I do not want to be angry.
Then there it was - written in poison
Pouring from seventeenth century scripts
The words, the soul of Jonathan Swift proved him my kindred
For he was a good man, a right man, a just man
He could not stand the suffering of any other man
And he battered his brains on the unmoving rocks of injustice.
And it scared me to see this man's seeds in myself
Because the biting, caustic irony that dripped immortal from his pen
Could not express the black depths of his hatred.
So whence came you, black beast,
Oh minotaur of my making?
Why so much rage, so much despair?
I cannot leave them there to fester in the maze behind my thoughts.
Like Jonathon Swift to be consumed by my bitterness.
So I dug deep down into that cavern
And found my monster wore the features of my own naivety
My expectations of justice
But should I NOT be indignant at the wrongs of the world?
Because WE are responsible for our society.
Each one thinks he is weak but we create it
We can change it if we hate it.
But somehow we don't, and proceed with our petty lives
While we live the lies that Irvine tells us.
How can I want to live a conscious life?
Deep is the well of my bitterness.
But I refuse to drink from there.
And I think I must declare my independence from the ghost of Mr. Swift.
For no one promised me this world would be perfect.
And every trial yet has made me stronger.
And Theseus will rise again, like the sun,
And my minotaur will be no longer.
*written by Jessica Thompson (one of my favorite amateur poets)*
Maybe you didn't know,
But PMS isn't just when girls get goobery and start guzzling chocolate.
Somehow those emotional highs and lows tap deep into the flows of your unconscious thought.
And there, in the dark dripping darkness grow the truths
The human mind will not acknowledge, knowing it
Too profound or too disturbing to prove palatable.
And so unseen it touches only traces of intangible emotion.
For me this cycle of the moon brought me uncommon revelation
When I found inside myself a well of anger at the world.
A seething, acid, bitter, burning anger at the world
And the minotaur I'd chained inside my breast was beating outward,
And every headline, every heartache that I heard was eating inward,
And this school, my wings and shackles, only offered me achievement,
And Theseus, the hope that guides my heart had just been vanquished,
And in my poetry I'm screaming what the minotaur had whispered
While disillusionment besieged the meager fortress in my mind until it gave,
And let my rage run rampant all that Monday.
And I do not want to be angry.
Then there it was - written in poison
Pouring from seventeenth century scripts
The words, the soul of Jonathan Swift proved him my kindred
For he was a good man, a right man, a just man
He could not stand the suffering of any other man
And he battered his brains on the unmoving rocks of injustice.
And it scared me to see this man's seeds in myself
Because the biting, caustic irony that dripped immortal from his pen
Could not express the black depths of his hatred.
So whence came you, black beast,
Oh minotaur of my making?
Why so much rage, so much despair?
I cannot leave them there to fester in the maze behind my thoughts.
Like Jonathon Swift to be consumed by my bitterness.
So I dug deep down into that cavern
And found my monster wore the features of my own naivety
My expectations of justice
But should I NOT be indignant at the wrongs of the world?
Because WE are responsible for our society.
Each one thinks he is weak but we create it
We can change it if we hate it.
But somehow we don't, and proceed with our petty lives
While we live the lies that Irvine tells us.
How can I want to live a conscious life?
Deep is the well of my bitterness.
But I refuse to drink from there.
And I think I must declare my independence from the ghost of Mr. Swift.
For no one promised me this world would be perfect.
And every trial yet has made me stronger.
And Theseus will rise again, like the sun,
And my minotaur will be no longer.