Castles In The Air

I think about thinking more than I think

To the point that the point becomes 

Pointless, the wisps of my will

Wending themselves around my being

Being nothing more than phantasms 

Derived from base impulses that cling

Like vines to a tree, strangling life’s 

Pure impulse to flower in the light

For a Dionysian Thyrsus, 

For reveling the flesh

To pleasure the soul.  

But pleasure, like leisure flees

Shortly after it is had

Leaving nothing but nothing

But the gnaw of desire

Leaving us wanting more

Of the very things that 

Lead us astray from following

The path which leads to Castles

More magnificent than Versailles 

More sacred than Corbenic 

Where the wounded King

Fishes for life’s answer

To questions never asked

Since words which heal

Can only come from hearts

That have opened to others’

Pain and have closed

To pleasing pleasure

For the pleasure of pleasing.  



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©2020 by The Unknown Poet.