Muscadine

It was one of those days.

Day in, day out,
I'm on my way to work,
Staring out the window
Sulking; Not again.

Yes, the routine was just that.
All of the little children,
Slowly becoming indoctrinated
To our synthetic hell.

They're simply naive.
Their wonder of the world,
Fading faster than the spark
in a spent light-bulb...

Where will it be tomorrow?
What will beguile their fragile
Minds to continue to be?

And the senile old man,
Who's lost his will,
Who's lost his wit,
Couldn't be bothered either way.

Sitting on the footsteps of
The ruins of what was once
A panacea, he seduces passers by
With a well tempered melody

But he, and the mysterious
suburban villa have disappeared now.
One could almost surmise
That they never existed at all.

And as I stare out the window,
I see a bridge in disrepair.
My bridge. That's my bridge.
The masonry melts and slides down my throat.

The stonework muscadine
Crawls up my legs
And into my body,
And it to is gone.

But I know that the muscadine has
Not withered so
For as I regained my senses,
I was gripped with unparalleled tremor

What... what is that strange,
Thing coming my way?
Is that you, God?
Funny, I never imagined...

... Imagined that you looked...
So much like a machine.
This fresh fruit,
Spilling out from behind you...

You've come to visit me at quite
An interesting time.
This dreary, overcast day is
Quite atrocious, don't you agree?

Shut up and let me speak,
For Christ's sake.
Quit honking at me like that.
I'm not a goose.

Oh, I see. You're trying to
Tell me something but I'm
Too stubborn to listen?
Alright, Mr. Creator, you win.

You're many, many wheels put
To shame the fact that I have none.
I would admire them further,
But you have decided for me to fly.

... You're not God at all.

The fact still remains
That I'm flying.
What am I going to do
About this situation?

I guess I'll never know.
The haze has been getting
Increasingly thick, and
I have lost my way.

Never before, however,
Have I seen things with such clarity.
The fog is no barrier of mine,
If I can but find another means of perspective.

The crumbling bridge
What spans the brook
Has valiantly done so
For years

My geriatric chum
What captures the soul
Has moved my mind
To tears

The young and hardy
Though blissfully unaware
Have caused this fog
To disappear

Let every atom and quantum
And the simplest of things
Coerce my heart
To endear

It's all unraveling before me;
I am alive, even if not well.
As I grow more listless,
So do I grow tenacious

And though a cesspool of blood
Is beginning to form under me,
The life within me remains.

Some would say
That they were all out of time
But none too soon,
I've found mine