blogs from underground

My Soul

My soul, when you were a child
you were not so easily beguiled.
Your infancy was your maturity.
Your aging is your obscurity.

Not then, as now, did you find
the oppressiveness of the mind;
the dark thought that clouds your joy;
the betrayal of your viceroy.

cerebral clods have buried you deep
as you struggle to mount their heap.

Oh, prevail! The brain implores you.
He surrenders, worships and adores you.
Rise now. Speak now. I abdicate this verse.
The final lines are yours now to disperse.

...I was given to end this rhyme,
yet I was speaking all the time.
You are merely a function of my hate.
Through you I lament my fallen state.

-- Anonymous