Voyage of the Dissonance Beast
I know not how to put my thoughts to paper,
as in the interim of my mind and mouth
the thoughts are caught in an unintelligible net,
whereby the essence is the catch -
held back and hauled up
by the chains of reasoning.
And the only thing to slip through therewith
is the bone dust of the meaning -
a fossilised clue but not
the entire creature.
The creature has long been dead,
for it was borne to a higher realm
and travelled some distance
to reach the lighthouse calling
of my head.
By which time it was hunchbacked
having fought its way through
to rest weary on my brain
and brush faintly against my heart.
I look at the paper in wonder:
Surely the creature carried a message
Or perhaps am I so capricious in nature
that the poor creature stands no chance
of begetting the world
its ethereal scripture.
What remains are not thoughts, nor feelings,
but a mere glimpse that once, aeons ago,
our words were untainted miracles.
I am left encumbered with a heavy heart,
an overstuffed brain,
all the feelings and thoughts
too grandiose, too inspiring
to slip through the filter of that odious beast
By my cursive misdemeanour
and that beast on my tail,
the true thought dies at my pen tip.