Adagio
Sharp as a razor and I’m so mentally well apparelled
Twix these pages herewith, is not my Childe Harold?
Cynicism is a rampant tyrant, more then best I forget
With magnum opus crafted, beget the Moulsecombe Set.
Perhaps from a century lost, a heart-rending romantic
I’m potentially catastrophic and a touch too pedantic?
To profess love with passionate and such literary note
Like Heaven forgive my madness, James to Nora wrote.
An advocate of detournement, surreptitiously work inside
But only here for the money and yet another free ride.
Once I was Too Fast to Live, today I’m Too Young to Die
Reciting ‘Faux Pas of Etiquette’, with a heavily laid sigh.
This is more The ID praising, than the fresh wind of egoism,
And adoration of Dionysus – a consequence of the hedonism,
It’s perpetually absolute, to define the philosophy of Life
Raging and renouncing ideologies, like balancing on a knife.
The dark fear of criticism, it’s a mind-crash of distress
Like wretched prose out of focus and a vow to panic less,
These occasions when aspirations, lie splintered and broken
Now emotionally cannibalised, leaving utterances unspoken.
Naïve indeed, when I left my box of dreams outside
Cos some had been stolen and others have just died;
Still yet my integrity remains enormously persistent
Why yes and even sometimes, so wonderfully inconsistent.
I’ve been betrayed by the restraints of a wanton cognition
Yet still abide of terrors of the human condition.
And cataclysms like Beat Poets are more quid pro quo
Stay utterly self divisive, if it’s only what you know.
No need to comprehend – these opinionates unfurled
Look in the mirror for the biggest in a bastard world.
Iconography plus symbolism are a stock in trade,
A sanguine facade is paramount, when one’s soul is on parade.
Racked by emotional turmoil, what is one to do?
Yes confused and misanthropic – so that much is true.
Striving to achieve purity with a perfect story to tell
Struggling with dyslexia; because I still can’t bloody spell.
