Infant Vanity (CLUST. 1/4)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

--Just wanted to get this out before my 17th birthday
Still not yet finished
May change last verse, will appreciate thoughts on that

I have reversed myself to the most basic form of man's lament
And secrete in the bitter cusp of a child's torment, thought to be
That Justifying impatience arouses prisoned mortality — 
My will sets alight the existence of paternal vehement; 
Hestia offers her virginity before lit apprehensions
And forebodes the reconciliation of Man's embarrassment; 
Now hearts pulp brine, Mercury rebels the vital comprehensions
And I have no deity's to suit the voice of natural dissent, 
Visions huddle in the nuts of vessels darkened with sensations
And orient halo's ripe with young Pan's ritualised consent, 
No appetite for reason left, I quiver whole at the stations 
Of eternal life, open still, and perform in the fated scent
Of forgotten opera's, comical in relief; revelations 
Spur in my dreams and suckle the pupil for reflections content, 
Nooses knot my veins and hang my sight over constant liberty
And my heart is warmed by the Eastern palm, gasping over the Sea…

Age is a senseless expression of autonomy, and I fear it! …

Morguria's breath steeps from the depth's of coward's lung, though in vain 
For the mildew heath beneath Earth's gleaming chin seeks to mould and free 
The soldier's boot, centred within his grave; his force served action's knee
But not in aid of what is praised in plain sight— Augustine's tight brain, 
Unified by the sexes, Hermes and his reach, vanished childhood 
From the spirits cell in Lethe's transparent, ever motionless, vein; 
In the wretched melancholy callous statures posed by my blood
Rusted with ingenuity and applause — gold poet's refrain… 
Weekly suicide of nature, an eighth day for the Sun, I stood 
In the murky shallows of anguish and normalised arts of pain, 
Gushing in the rapids of scythed rivulets of time, back to rud…
Piers and domestic lights arise like warm cuticles from my mane, 
Swelling from peach-flesh chests — visions of prolonged beauty understood! …
Yes! the music to this thing. The forest's intestines. I remain. 
Life's half - distraction, Life's half - reflection, The other - apology; 
I daren't seek modern roots, trivial pursuits, or paternity…

Take me back to the ages of ancient solitude and silence! …

Truth's defined the moment it's as personal as it is public.
My redefined aspects thaw and fossilize into terra's plea, 
Antediluvian lands and vigils flood the shell's bestowed key; 
I'm sedated, clawing the meshes of my skull, festivals thick 
With a corpse's memory, rather than binding rage and stillness
Into a crucifix of preparation — on future's I'd snick 
By relinquishing all presence, ensuring the constant illness 
Of a disdained youth; laws, ordained since birth, gauged ears for sound to pick 
Lost tears from parching eyes, I performed inheritance and came less 
To the Ocean's strophe filtered through the pores of a shell's open trick; 
Empires of dusk renounced for brittle silhouettes had to confess 
The opalescent sigh was a mist for the familiar sick, 
A shroud for the pilgrims pressing temenos soil for the Earth's success; 
Verses, although recited, became vicious in their harmony 
And choice's beyond illusion were found again in eternity…

Arbitrary hatred; contemplation, like fruit, rots to it's root! …

Deja-vu! All sounds breathe and are illuminated with one mind! ….
Deja-vu! All hearts weep and are enlightened with one bourn! …
Deja-vu! All minds seethe and are consecrated with one thought! ! …
Deja-vu! All sounds creep and are enamoured by the skin they burn… 

Does my destiny grow only by Aergia's infant age? … 


Submitted: May 03, 2017

© Copyright 2022 Manx. All rights reserved.

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