Archive 01/19/10 - (1)

   

Important

                                                                  

 

Before he got too old to matter, even to himself,

He actually believed he had a viable reason for being,

That people expected him to carry on

As if each second he strutted across his pedestrian boards,

Every word he shaped into a complex or simple speech,

Had meaning sufficient to fuel his human machine —

The two-handed engine fate had bequeathed him, at conception —

And let him effect changes of inspiring consequence,

Which could alter the course of lives, nations, the universe.

 

And, unequivocally, to say that he didn't buy into this ethos,

With all stops pulled out, a full head of steam,

Would be a grossly overstated dereliction of the truth.

He did believe, whole-hog, wholeheartedly, that he was sui generis,

Important beyond the estimations of his peers and elders,

A man not just destined to greatness but entitled to it, elected,

And, accordingly, expected to take charge of things

Whenever he saw fit, regardless the probability of failure

Or the possibility of taking-candy-from-a-baby success.

 

This grandiose sense of self-importance held him in good stead,

Albeit creating a myopia, of sorts,

Which kept him from seeing that his existence was a brutal joke,

Making him an unclothed-emperor laughingstock...

Until the day he crawled to the dead center of delusion's bridge

And leaped, in a massively radical free fall of gravitylessness,

Into cascading thermals of freezing mist,

Crystallizing his ego, vaporizing his spirit, invisibling his soul...

Until he submitted to the only power more important than he.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                               

 

01/19/10 - (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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