A Gaze Less Wicked

Openly Socratic, blatantly Epicurean
The Hedonist with rigid logical potential
Ubiquitous lenses, seeing probables and vacancies
From the constant pull of anger to the desire for an ancient peace
never seen, forever as a dream, as an unborn
unhatched, newly planted seed, planted with conviction
Dancing with suspicion, I thought she was a siren
or at least a lovely nymph who moves in silence; but now
I see my wishes fading, into larger ecstasies--
Into all encompassing memories, a darker exegesis.
Set the thesis, in stone, etch the language into shape
and form, let it grow, born, as it relates to content
Warn that wasted scorn for trivial objects,
material nonsense, elemental discrepancies
breaks the essence of soul into melted mental depths,
it's death to see the wealth of your diction fade
Elaborately lifted from the academy's wicked gaze
I sit engaged with ancient scholars and metathinkers
or real time pixellated warfare
or the potential life that we've created
Instead of happily disengaging, I'm savagely motivated
to move to real life, the bigger picture,
the local lamentations, proximal, existential
And understand that anything possible could become detrimental
or beneficent, where rhythm lapses, ideas collapse...
The poet is in motion now,
where harmony is most startling.
Flexing aptitude, magnifying magnitude.
Emphasizing passion, truth, exemplifying actions through
proof, existence, and a life in scholarship;
what other way out of such a bottomless pit?
Depths of mind, a promised abyss.