The Lyric of Sky-Heart

I told her this over pie and coffee on a Friday morning,
  the prunes of my grandmother's fingers twirling
as she knitted, reminiscent of earlier days
    when wonder was something humanity knew was necessary
    and when life was a way of faith

"I will not be a timeless sense of genius
  bought, sold, and painted on a page
cut from the connections of imagination
  and exchanged for purchased pains

The seats of Sunday's mornings
  and sacred Monday's work
  each swear a stronger inheritance
  of ebullient emotion's worth

But I've never found this sense of satisfaction
  that I've heard of so many times
  when we're tied to the relentless wings of progression
  my heart doesn't seem to beat quite right

The tangerine tangle of early mornings
    and the insomniac of me in moonlight moments
  lost in the massacre of countless pages
    dissected throughout the room

As I try to create a cosmos better than this one
  where amphigories finally make sense
  where people truly do fall in love
      and never fall out again

But then I wake from opium's slumber
  and the apathy of beautiful dreams
to face this city that's forgotten its sense of wonder
and exchanged hearts for cold machines

But I've never found this sense of satisfaction
  that I've heard of so many times
  when we're tied to the relentless wings of progression
  my heart doesn't seem to beat quite right

Highways form their own sort of tertoma
  overlaying the truth of life below
  to scream a hole through the rushing hours
  is an impossible way to save a soul

Our emptiness is barathrum;
  savage and unendingly fierce
  as we strive to be what nothing ever was
  after salvations that are never sure

Braille painted what our hearts couldn't feel
  to decipher the pangs lifeless days
because we never become who we want to be
      when the world lies dying in the way

Oh, I've never found this sense of satisfaction
  that I've heard of so many times
  when we're tied to the relentless wings of progession
  my heart doesn't seem to beat quite right

I'll tell them to cinch their boots on tight
  so we can finally run truly free
  because ambivilance never was a savior
    and masochists never could love the spring

So I'll set this war against all the world
    if that's what it takes to be
  we'll reach heights no one ever could
    if only they'll come with me."


She smiled, and nodded knowingly
  as only a grandmother can
    there was a glint of young age's fire in her eyes
  as she sipped, set down her cup and said,
"Well said, grandson.
    With boys like you
      this world may yet have chances left."