A Float through Night Skies and Other Poems in Youth

I; the Boy

Tell me for I, a sordid form

Where would I fly to reach

         Mountain peaks?

How would I soar to touch –

         Bluish skies?

And to love and mourn the

        Gasping lives?

Lost; unbound by strings

Freedom, plenty like all things

I've stayed within my mind abode

Where thoughts move between crossroads

Attractions made with excited parts

That never could sit still.

But when seen on screen or picture

          Given,

The words I pour were dullish,

          Unlived-in,

Beauty does not speak through it,

Nor does it convey my heart.

The interviewer in my head

        Would pleasantly make an

        Irating remark:

"It flows like a creek –

With dead fish and plants –

And covers itself with –

Sticky muck,

A flavour of food –

Most certainly bland –

And rivals the taste –

Of old aged flan,

"Your mind is weak and thoughtless

Imagination, non and worthless

With every fibre written useless

Imagery made was shiftless,

"Not awe-inspiring whatsoever

Your being and what you are

Nothing but a piece of meat

Stuck to colossus's teeth."

And though such judgements

         Works in and out,

I still hold out for hope

        Of love about,

The one would say,

Such words were meant to be,

And threads were woven

For those unheard; unseen.