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The Ministry of the Mood
It no longer matters should I wander from my path,
For the merriment of April cannot see the dark,
Distant prophecies of how should we arrive,
Like an untouched virgin is not the perfect life.
But my constancy of development no longer exists,
I drinks and smokes all day on an eight hour shift,
And the beauty and the terror of forgotten lands,
Does not wish to remember the lithe and brightly lad.
Surely there must be an answer that I can come to grasp,
Just bloody well get on with it of your preset task.
But the effort is unknown in this time of stress,
My housemate is a tyrant that rules with loud duress.
Has it been that I have been too comforted by,
As simple 'a thing of form and figure tried,
And can I find the measure to my work refined?
I think my chasm is engulfed by a helping hand,
As mighty as the heavens and as warm to understand.
But I still ask myself why does this wall come to me,
When I need not move but in product be the proof,
Consume, be silent, die comes to please remind,
Me of the subtle existential and unconscious life.
But I cannot wake an Angel, nor a seething mass,
I just wish I could bide time better and just get a pass,
But the reverence of the mountain climbing to the sky,
Has many paths to the summit but it's here I scribe.
(c)R.H.Elliott 2005
