the edges of myself

the intricate curve of roads unravelling

beneath me– rivers like tendrils

winding to their conclusion– all laid bare

above the clouds– a mysterious floating,

the technology of imagination– harnessed

and exploited past the point of recognition.

 

the mediocrity of humanity surrounding–

the miraculous becomes mundane–

blackens the beauty encapsulating.

sprawling creation down below– routines

and habits, patterns and rules– concrete structures

that validate the ordinary– give hope and

reason where none intrinsically exist.

 

the incessant verse, each person’s contribution

forgotten to be written– its intention swallowed

in the vast societal machine.

children forced into molds in which

they can’t possibly expand to their true potential–

asked to conform, shut down the largest,

most powerful pieces of themselves–

the truest parts, indelible songs of the heart.

 

this is the slow death of invention–

the over-production, destruction of

survival of the fittest– every piece of external

validation– the severing and crushing of

true imagination.

 

and yet, here i sit

crammed into this magnificent work of art,

this brain-child of genius– now reduced

to commercial servitude– sensing the

overwhelming resignation that surrounds me–

 

and i feel nothing but utter wonder at the fact

that i am soaring high above the clouds.