These twenty eight years,
But fits of psyche.
A flittering bulb:
Perturbed upon birth
By DNA denigrating demagogues.
I rejected it in a fell swoop,
And have wandered through the woods
Some fourteen years now
Only to wonder
How much deeper the plunge
Should I have let my foundation
Be carved from wood that was given to me
Should I have built my frame with materials that were here before me,
Yet will never be as old as I.
That timber was not my blood-
Heavy assigned lumber burden,
No, all waters pointed deeper.
I chose promethean defiance and ignorance
Long hours dreaming creation
Sparks bursting from my fingertips
To illuminate a few inches farther
The untrodden path into the bowels of the mystery-mistake-lined labyrinth.
Created: Apr 19, 2014Fox Robbins Document Media