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Thread: Tell Me What You Think of it please?

  1. #1
    Registered User McColDIles's Avatar
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    Tell Me What You Think of it please?

    In a Thousand

    I do not wish to melt
    Into anotherís life, splayed into millions,
    Scrambled among the dull greys and beiges
    Of the shameful tapestry, woven mindlessly
    With the threads of their
    Quaint mushy brains.
    I do not desire to disappear into the mash
    Of the helpers the doers the workers,
    Where few come to aid, less leave comfort,
    And minimal breathe real peace.
    I shall not become with the them, for;
    To become I raced and to breathe I yelled
    And to dream I formed lives in clay
    To be remolded again and again and again
    And again until Pompeii rose from its ashes
    To kiss the new sun, the aqueducts roaring
    Galaxies and fantasies into my infantile brain.

    I refute the probable inexplicable propensity
    Of my existence to fade to the background
    Of the frescoes, the white sliver among
    The green of the grass, useful in that of
    Addition, but utterly, absolutely
    Unnoticed and distasteful in the expanse
    Of the unearthed, broken
    Home.

    O! To become of proportion and note.
    Is it too much to ask- No, wish; No,
    Become! Ė To be the curve
    Of that womanís heaving bare breast,
    Or a swords point of death which had
    Slayed seething hearts in a dozen, the glint
    From the sun the artist relished in placing
    On the doomed wall, the piece named with a sound
    Remembered by a seeker or lost
    As that of chief legend, indescribably precious.
    O! To wear a cape of wonder, perhaps that
    Of velvet and tales, so the potential of a child
    Who dreams the same as I may stumble across
    The jewel of possibility I clutch to my bosom:
    A dream. My dream!

    I do admit to holding a certain belligerent disrespect
    For the blatancy of othersÖ Desires. Perhaps because
    Mine has burnt a star into that tapestry,
    Punched the spidering crack across the frescoes,
    The telling of a thousandís old disaster, the temper
    Of giants; It is a chance of mine
    To be understood as that of the smallest point
    Of notable desire, so
    In a thousand from now to be:
    Pray do I, to not have melted, but instead
    To have sent forth in a thousand
    My dream, enduring and true as the stones
    Of the rubble, the stitches of thicker thread,
    Noted.
    Yes, O! Yes: My dream.
    I have great passion, as I do great fear: I promise you, kin, I am victim to both.

  2. #2
    Maybe YesNo's Avatar
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    It seems all over the place. What is your "dream"?

  3. #3
    Registered User
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    I liked it, you got more?

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