The King of Thought Touches Reality

The king of contemplation kicked his keys into the river;
“Why bother?” he scowled, “This world don’t care anyhow,
And all I am is a foul breath of far too much to think!
For instance:
Those keys will sink to soundless depths
Where fish and mermaids make boastful jests of
Two-legged freaks who live in space,
Pacing the stars of an air-locked grave -
And in the infinite repercussions of each endless discussion,
I am always disgusted, dismayed and seducted by
The feckless abundance in each fecund point of view!
When it all stretches out there is no truth!
Certainly no proof you don’t pay for,
And whether or not I think at all
Is cancelled out by each ragged reality raised on doubt;
It’s a damned near-wonder I don’t just throw myself in to drown!”
He frowned at the ripples his frustration had formed;
Cause and effect effectively scorned
He stormed from the sunset to grumble some more:
In the unpleasant shape of his flickering fate -
A one bedroom flat and Dostoevskian date -
He climbed up inside through the window, of course,
And by then all he knew was remorse for his discourse
And a mourning of truth;
With nowhere to go and nothing to do
His thoughts turned malignant
And cannibal too;
They ate themselves up in a yearning for taste,
Each spontaneous instinct given away to
Brittle beasts of regurgitate waste:
But then,
One day,
He looked outside into the eyes of the sky
And found himself locked in the cellar of time
Too choked on chasing a collar for thought -
Caught in the talk of a tortured walk
Through want in the name of wanting more:
He cried as men do, when they just don’t know anymore…
That sunset, he went swimming,
And with the mermaids he talked of
The beauty of life, and how starfish are born;
Education of the undersea society;
Social movements of an aquatic variety,
And as he quietly stepped back onto the shore,
His keys caught between his toes;
He smiled and then laughed,
Picked them up and went home,
And as he entered triumphant
Through the front door,
He wondered how long happiness can be worn.

The King of Thought Touches Reality

PensivePenguin

Hamilton, Australia

  • Artist
    Notes
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