My conscious persona
No longer exudes
Fragmentation of self
There is merely the one
And the love that eludes him
Eschewing his genius
His manic depression
His mind-bending realms
Of post-mortem reflection
For how could he teach them
His methods of madness
His ubermensch dead to the world
Phantom sadness
What he comes to know
Is no longer aware
Of the scent of her fear
There is only his cognizance
Naked and bearing
The weight of their hunger
The oceans of thirst
The suffering children
Enslaved upon birth
And for all of their innocence
He will endure
The injustice of time
As he rots to the core
Of his inner-most thoughts
In a prison of prose
His youth in revolt
Though trapped in decay
Like a withering rose
From the ashes of ego
Destruction of id
To reveal the creations
Of muses he hid
And for lost souls to serve
And his goddess divine
He embodies the light
Formlessly redefines
The objective of life
Subject to debate
But realizing the truth
Is by his hand made free
To determine the fate
Of his own destiny
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Michael Brandon Marchese and writers in Poets and other communities.
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