Master Proof

I spent my days as a youth roaming,
despite the fact that I stayed in my room lonely.
Prayers confused, I was prime prey for the muse.
I guess what they say isn't true;
who needs meaning when life is just a matrix of proofs?
Aesthetic reason, poetic patrons in tune with my mind:
a tetrahedron designed for creative pursuits.
They call it complexity;
quantum obsessions over subjective concoctions,
directed perceptions, or modest impression-streams.
Beliefs built on the assumption there's freedom in logic,
but only when God isn't mentioned.
Their arguments are arduous
but think of what we started with:
after years of skirmishes we learned to live in partnerships.
From bartering to sophistry, euclidean geometry,
to pyramid and ponzi schemes, diminishing those promised dreams.
I write to reach clarity, but find that it's a rarity,
for the closer I approach the more I'm blinded by our "right" to speech.
To clarify, it won't suffice to speak carefully,
'cause our language is moot,
owing to constraints that we're scared to breach.
Slowly time encroaches on our hopes to be prepared for peace:
just think of our despairing greed.
Inherent flaws rampantly consuming Thought.
Communication exhausted due to the abuser's cost,
invoiced to the future cause, assuming law
and order isn't drawn and quartered by bombs and mortar.
Either singularity or somewhere between
robotic warders and a new evolutionary breed.

Organic flux,
either struggle against the grain or let fate command your crux.

I spend my days as a man learning.
I spend my nights as a father.
He's the motivation to change,
'cause deep inside is a monster.

He is beautiful, an unexpected seamless musical--
with Kant I used to grope in the dark for reasoned truth.
From teaching youth seasoned proofs and seeking meaning,
to either sleepless evenings or ceaseless dreaming.
It needs repeating;

I spend my nights as a man changing.
I spend my life as a father.
He's the motivation to change,
for deep inside lives a monster.

Morally stricken, you set the course and position,
embedded genetics, no need to force a description.
Scattered across months of anticipatory remittance
to save the soul or some gold?
To pay the toll and to go forth to your limits.
They say the formula isn't ordinance driven,

but to be yourself for a Self to be formed and conditioned.
If only I could make sense of it,
how nature could create such a dangerous convention.
Nature could have mentioned how creation is dependence,
instead I'm caught without preparations or defenses.
I guess there's no mistaking the intentions of the Absolute.
I suppose it Acts with Truth.
Even though I've had the muse, now I've set the dragon loose.
The motivation to create is embedded in established roots.
Now to have these roots sprout into a Master Proof,
with axioms of passion and fallacies of madness.
No father could prepare his son for how rapidly it happens...
How masterfully it captures youth.

...the natural order