the intricate curve of roads unravelling
beneath me– rivers like tendrils
winding to their conclusion– all laid bare
above the clouds– a mysterious floating,
the technology of imagination– harnessed
and exploited past the point of recognition.
the mediocrity of humanity surrounding–
the miraculous becomes mundane–
blackens the beauty encapsulating.
sprawling creation down below– routines
and habits, patterns and rules– concrete structures
that validate the ordinary– give hope and
reason where none intrinsically exist.
the incessant verse, each person’s contribution
forgotten to be written– its intention swallowed
in the vast societal machine.
children forced into molds in which
they can’t possibly expand to their true potential–
asked to conform, shut down the largest,
most powerful pieces of themselves–
the truest parts, indelible songs of the heart.
this is the slow death of invention–
the over-production, destruction of
survival of the fittest– every piece of external
validation– the severing and crushing of
and yet, here i sit
crammed into this magnificent work of art,
this brain-child of genius– now reduced
to commercial servitude– sensing the
overwhelming resignation that surrounds me–
and i feel nothing but utter wonder at the fact
that i am soaring high above the clouds.