Poetry

Summer Bummer, 15 (167.)

Dreams, flashbacks, retrospection galore,
introspective introduction to progress past allure.
Angels exist in the fissures of the mind,
losing resonance and becoming revenants
with the passage of time.
The hourglass cracks and shatters.
Sand spills to burn into shards
and slash space again and again,
until the spine of the world
is a lacerated ladder to insanity.
How inane, this quest for normalcy.
Rather a shattered visage and a tremulous heart
gain courage of conviction
than a trillion normal-looking automatons
drone on and on into mediocrity.
What hides behind the average mask?
How long does placidity last?
If there must be plastic, then mold it –
mold it to something terrible, and
wonderful.
A sign to lead us out of these brackish pits.
Time holds nothing but itself.
Leap, then, out of the past
and
into right now.

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