but He moved like He’d lose it.
He ran like he might win,
and he wasn’t quite wind,
but His mind blew through rhetoric
like a speeding train derailed.
And He sailed through the bullshit,
catching air on positivity
He stood at the edge of the world unfurled,
and compared to the possibility
nothing was equal.
And like a heart shared between two people
He was the definition of devotion,
despite His locomotion
He made sure He smelled the roses
because he was only half a man sans
He didn’t have to understand it,
He just had to learn to accept,
live and let life.
At first, He smoked to cope,
and it was dope in the beginning,
Vices tasted like candy in the beginning.
Gin was a godsend.
Cannabis was heaven sent,
and eventually he was straight enough
to ask where heaven went.
Substance was a crutch
and he was proud.
Addictions were distractions
that subtracted from the fact that
He was an agent of true creation.
He laid waste to hesitation
and lifted His hands.
Just a young man, his glands danced
and bodily love was nothing to the rush
that went along with True Creation.
He was a deity stunted,
mini God if not a demigod
destined to create and delegate
He drowned in passion, poetry, and paint.
He was ink without a canvas
dripping like rain
over pages He hadn’t had the capacity to understand.
Reason ran through His fingers like sand
in the desert of His depression.
Life was the question.
and Art was the answer.
He was an agent of creation,
and stagnation made him sick,
He was tired of His surroundings looking like shit,
and so He came down off his high
best believe He hit the ground running.
Snatching at life,
it’d been way too long coming.