Free verse № 73781
The Maguswolf
Spirit, restless, resides within the magic theater
where madmen are titans marked by solitude.
A steppenwolf prowling dark roads
his howls silent but evident
for those that can hear.
He thumbs the golden twine
knowing it will slip from his grasp
becoming hidden till sparks take hold
to deliver his illumination- euphoriant,
only to fade again- a sorry cycle.
Enticed by what he despises, he plunges forward
simply to be repulsed, paws compelled to proceed
to the next destination.
Demian haunted his shadow once.
He steeped in the taboo thoughts
that the magus spoke aloud
to his creeping figure- pleased to indulge
in that scarce edification.
Lessons for those that can hear
listen and learn, the timid left consumed
by fear of what is unknown.
A rusted key sparkles due to a shimmering light
-the pinhole of this souls saturnine reality.
Time waits patiently for this valetudinarian
to realize the door exists, the keyhole
awaiting the turn of his wrist.
8 comments
Can't we get along? Theres hope, especially if that mold of yours is hallucinogenic.
Its hard for me to be mean with a dad poem since my own father is spicing in the pacific, so my sadistic powers are severly crippled when that subject presents itself.
But my voting scale stays reasonably in functional condition, so take the nine with pride.
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