Illume

Something tells me knowledge rides the air.

Something tells me wisdom isn’t fair.

Something tells me, calls me, wants me

to bottle the stars, sun, moon; most everything rare.

 

Something persuades me to hunger the truth;

a curiosity parallel to that of my youth.

Something, nothing, everything; no,

this quest smells so sweet; like that of vermouth.

 

Vermouth, so white a wine, resembles light;

So bright, so pure, so shatters the dark that binds the night.

I faint an illusion, I draw a conclusion; I fail

to reproach that which stirs my fright.

 

Sometimes I question divine superiority.

Sometimes I scoff with inferiority.

Then, something hinders my satisfaction;

a sense, a lack, of my morality.

 

This disastrous vindication of lust;

an immoral love of educability " unjust.

Lest anyone hear the cries of my resistance;

they shy from credibility " they fade as does the dust.

 

My lack of sustainability; my lack of self-control;

my lack of wisdom to obtain from omnipotence

(my primary, futile goal.)

 

Restrain thyself; thou fool " do not destroy.

Hail, let not Hades, upon you, deploy.

 

All doth end in forever faithful turmoil,

as love doth draw death with its fatal recoil.