What a much younger self thought - 2011

The madness of poets

They know the truth with accuracy so much greater than the neighbour

in being, and for this very reason they refuse to believe it.

Their insides cry and their heads ache desperate for a better view

with no ambition to ever look down at what they have achieved. Not

even on the platforms.

For they see no platforms

Some wish for fire without burning the wood.

And so it is , when they write they write with stuttered hands and

selfish, insecure minds. And they claw at what they wish to grab

achieving only the chance to claw.

For with the minds in such a craze, such a trance of pure un-willed

understanding.

With their rigid ways do they aspire to be away yet do they love to kneel.

And so with the craving to hear themselves in company do they write of

their regrets.

They do so well mourn in acute anger, knowing not for why they write.

And so in their minds twisted among Powder so they can always

remember that they once forgot.