There is a hurricane of shame that lives inside me. I think hard and long and smirk at the wasted years. Long nights lingered in lowly oblivion.
The warm smugness of the delinquent muse I once loved, laughs at me now – such an oft told tale which pumps the lungs of many the fallen man.
Oh was I a quirky boyo, quick on my feet, winking and nudging? A scoundrel for the devilment, supping and guzzling, smoking and sniffing, carousing and jigging?
Rise and fall the seasons roam. Hanging my thoughts inside my dripping mind, I move my eyes away from the maddening melancholy. Lost loves fade into the slipping sand that squirms beneath my feet.
Old words written on dried out leaves defy me. Icons and blinking flashes of neon blue waves crash against a pale grey sky. They once were icons of the future. Icons I held in my young head. Icons became idols and the idols died.
They died at my hands. As inexplicable twists of life curve away from my poetic path, my despair deepens. Held to myself there is no accounting for my taste.
The pressure to conform, consumes the comfort I confuse with confidence.
Armed again, stripped bare, forearms stretched to a muscled pump, the mystifying words heckle me. The feeling slowly takes a budding gulp and lets the spark of old shine grow.
The crown sits heavily on this wizened head. Neck stretched, the eyes flicker from here to then and back again. Parallel, the universe runs its course. A thousand lives spin away infinitely. A thousand times the spinning spins indefinitely.
The gallons I have drunk are many. The pool of stilled salted tears I let roll for my soul are few. There are only futile words to be had there. Only pale dregs and pallid points I thought I should have made.
The horned trumpets blast Volare and I stand in silhouette against the violent orange sun, setting to the west. I call in the heart, the soul and the tempest of my time. I feel the power and I open my eyes.
Come on I think. Come and make it happen. If there is any justice in the world this stream will flow full force in face of all. Full force in face of all.
Yes there is simplicity in simple things, yet the complex nature of my ego pushes me on. It heats me up and launches a cavalcade of love inside my mind.
Perfection stays with me now. Sobriety in all I do. Extreme heart and a life to be regarded. The echoes of another world harmonise the depth I thought was all but lost. And this loss drives me on.
2 thoughts on “The Wink of the World”
nice prose punk
Gracias Senior Rim