aching for what came before
the whole story is etched in mind’s eye
drawn too tightly
then let go too fast
couldn’t keep up
with the needs of the master

the yawning chasm almost welcomed
but the voice filled it first
not a scream
but a whisper

I almost understood

will it always be my fault
the things that weren’t there
but seemed so real
hurt with real scars to show for it

but feather light filters through
to those who can only barely see
when they’re in the midst of clouds
the story continues relentlessly
whether you comprehend or not
just hold a bit longer

Hiding behind wit

There’s a world of hurt

Maybe

Or a mask

Of pure disdain

Everyday drudgery

Mediocre minds

The flow of words

A weapon

A tool for mass condescension

Either way

Get back in the ring

With the stuffed shirts

And let’s see what’s festering

Behind that calm mask

He despised stupidity
A self proclaimed genius
That only brought him deep loneliness
– and anger
“Why can’t you be smarter?” he railed
to no one and everyone
He tried beating the stupid out
but that only brought bruising
He tried cajoling, threats
but they only brought confusion, fear

He preferred old shirts
with holes and stains
to hide his greatness
that no doubt shone
He walked humbly
and talked mercilessly
and made impressions everywhere
like litter in a forest

He was a tyrant at meals
a dictator with subordinates
a pig with women
yet was sweetly tortured

A poetic despot he remains