From The Lab

Unstable Poet

When that old familiar ennui hits,
To disrupt the local thoughts of mind,
The one-eyed fool must lead the blind,
Through paths of darkness dimly lit.

Where trails were built to lead astray,
And leave the cyclops most afraid.
It matters not. Today's the day.

Despite the stick and stone of hate,
Some crystalline words are too fragile
To ignore the venomous rabble,
But a craftsman builds to dictate fate,

To reflect the world, its hopes and fears,
Twisting lies in funhouse mirrors,
To help their kin understand their tears.

Accepting reactions with nary a care;
All dried ink is a mark of the past,
Shadow truths beneath the looking glass,
Shrouded inside an underground lair.

Imbalanced and unable to see,
The effects of prophets small as he,
Staring down leaves, ignoring trees.

Lost defender of wisdom and wit,
In methods stolen from the first art,
The impact of intent, the frivolous lark,
Stowing skills away from the crypt.

Working in the boundaries of twilight,
Paralyzed by the size of the fight,
Another long day's journey into night.