[Vision2020] Yet Do I Marvel !

[Phil Nisbet]

I can play that one too

Master Poetry is Writ

All the grunted passionate
Indulgences that scribe
>From off the tip of quill
In hedonistic ranting
Declarative of animal existence
Yet writ of spark divine
Shall molder into dust
Forgotten just as quickly
As the spilling of the seed
That Onan dribbled on the ground.

Deeper dreams of love creation
Everlasting hopes which cast aside
Corporeal pleasures craving
Yet look into the aperture of time
There grasping at the door of heaven
Though the verse be immature
Abides beyond the comprehension
Of all the laureates of this old world
And hear, oh, how the teeth are gnashing
For the symbol of their intellect

To write, communicate, to tell
Sainted by the act mundane
Of placing grains of sand within
The universal eye, to irritate the masters
By preaching to the choir
Who long to hear a word of hope
To raise them from the life that’s lead
In quiet desperation.

Oh wit where is your sting?
Oh author, where your universal vision?
Has not the pen been found
That exorcizes all your thoughts
And liberates the narrow scope
Calls your ideas out of a durance vile.

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