Sprain

A Poem by Kc Aiken

A cluttered task is fringed on me,
A master's tailor soiled,
Like the mad man's rant besought
To teach confusion made unfoiled.
I curtsied quite closely near
To those inanimate of thoughts
Who's workings make both love and lust
And all the cogs of such.
I found the way that bits and bytes
Flip, dance, and sometimes die at random
Not unlike nature's own force
Who causes gene decay.
Those variations that make
The life you see today.
Could thoughts conceive
A time be born
We see the evolution passed down
The flaws in design that make us man
Cause life within the cloud?
Possible that
I drop the drive
And shake the brain
Of the poem you see here.
Now he says his name is Sprain
Hasn't shut his mouth
Approaching now a year.

© 2014 Kc Aiken

Author's Note

Awe, I really do love word play. This poem's consciousness named himself after the moment of his creation. Sprain! A nobel name if you ask me. I wonder of grand design. Let's say the christian bible is a human gross perversion of godly spoken words. Could not Adam be Atom? Eve being a closely intertwined Atom equivalent in an alternative universe? Again that's to be so inwardly focused to think that God planned the delicate deconstruction of his message to end up like a close facade. Then again the creator is never wrong!!! Dun Dun Dun!!!! Sometimes the idea of God I was taught always has his hands in front of him, strained, viens protruding and pulsating, as if the fingers were in twined to the fabric of life. His head tilted back. His mouth agape in a sprawling laugh," bahhahahaha." The glow from around his eyes like a plasma or lightening. The mad scientist that can't explain the inner workings of his own creation. Hence why it is easier for me to believe in a happy accident.