derision? and a fan?

Dear Diary:

 

It’s been a long time waiting as

I stand before a faceless throng
to get out of the mighty and wise,

and wage war on their
point-proper diction.

From the tangled shroud of Sleep, I rise.

Are you a poet? No!

How wild and bereft of hope,
the destiny of Man.

Because gods have no pity on those borne when
history began?

But you eat that peach like you watch the snow….

And maybe
then become how you must be (the gods hath chosen, and they hath
chosen me)

It’s tiny but that is better than green.

 

I stand before a faceless crowd to

get out of the mighty and wise
use which evenings hairs stand in defense of.

Inside explodes and fury tumbles down my
existences,

"Eureka!" the firefly sun can do all

the thinking for me, of …

 

Rolling tears that shiver,  they’re but a drop away!

Meekly die, derision? and a fan?

Are you a poet? No!

Am I a poet? No!

Dare I eat a peach? Dare I eat it like you watch the snow?

Because gods have no pity on those borne when history began…
but you eat that peach…

From the tangled shroud of Sleep, and rise.

 

 

Love,

 

Sin