Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

My Excalibur (Inking)

I can save the world, civilization, with a pen stroke.
mankind survives on my words, illuminated, projected
in a universe, inner sanctum -- postings from an underworld
where words are flesh-eating monsters ravaging all.

my pen is bright Excalibur wielded in informative fashion,
that I might save the ignorant, defenseless against famine
for words bleeding on luminescent pages like ink
but don't stain, revolve on waves of intermittent light
wavering throughout these shared galaxies of rubble,
shine through channels and portals mirrored and deflected,
bouncing off each rock into a black space without gravity,
boundless for some other cosmos in hopes someone will hear.

I can save the world if I write these odes to someone who'll listen.

I am not infinite, trapped in a bottle of time, cast to a sea
that rolls away from this orb on waves out to a heaven somewhere,
should it exist, unlike the purgatory I now realize
eating me and all mankind from within while we look out.

is there some message of hope out there like mine? wait.
I haven't said anything yet, because it's all just a dream.
all of this is the collective imagination of something greater,
if you listen to mouths with way too much money, like elon musk.


11.8.21
12.10.21

just some nonsense. or is it? unedited or edited. let me go back to sleep and if I wake up...

Short Version:
Turn The Page ▼

I can save the world, civilization, with a pen stroke.
Mankind survives on my words, illuminated, projected
in a universe, inner sanctum -- postings from an underworld
where words are flesh-eating monsters ravaging all.

My pen is bright Excalibur wielded in informative fashion,
that I might save the ignorant, defenseless against famine
for words bleeding on luminescent pages like ink,
but don't stain, revolve on waves of intermittent light
wavering throughout these shared galaxies of rubble —
shine through channels and portals mirrored and deflected,
bouncing off each rock into a black space without gravity,
boundless for some other cosmos in hopes someone will hear.

I can save the world if I write these odes to someone who'll listen.

I am not infinite, trapped in a bottle of time, cast to a sea
that rolls away from this orb on waves out to a heaven somewhere,
should it exist, unlike the purgatory I now realize
eating me and all mankind from within while we look out.

Not some message of hope floating through time, but
iridescent inner space, seldom found, but oft deflected.
You cannot turn this page; it stains your screen.
Luminescence pulsing, arriving, floats free eternally.

21 lines