A Dangerous Paradigm I Do Not Understand

 Perhaps the paradigm has passed me by,

And I have been kept alive for merely

My own awakening—I may learn yet,

That I slept soundly through the seasons

And that brevity is the bane I have braided—

The same sickness I have contrived…

The seraph that seems to surface!

I deem a dream I once had the epitome

Of my being—a fantastic fantasy of mine,

Molted into colours fit for a thousand butterflies.

It is a daily dance that delivers itself to me,

And feigns the faintest passions to make

Midnight appear as morning—a starless

Sky that I stare into until my eyes start

Tiring… But still it seems appropriate

That these are the moments my head

Stalls its spinning, and I capture clarity

Amongst my confusion and clutter.

I mutter along and stutter my simplest

Desires—drifting aimless like a ship

Sailing through wreckage—reckless!

The pining veiled with the vexation

Of one who is both majestic and missing—

The fruition of frivolous wishing—

The resultant of too much thinking.

But time is still ticking, and I am left

With a lustful lesion build from brooding

Upon the feeling that have haunted me

Thoroughly since I last tipped my hand.

I am sorrowed by withered words

That may never live to enlighten a page

Or become anything more than a dreary

Assortment of ink and dust.

       DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com