quest for conquest

an old poem of my own with mangled bassooning Poem: It began aged two With building blocks of coloured wood sheathed with a luminosity known only to marble I heard the bugle call which signalled my arrival. I took my throne when I was four And pursued with satisfaction The whirl of gravel and cement To cast a firm foundation. Aged six Prokofiev accompanied me in my zealous bounds As acorns seeds I tossed down So forests I decimate and throw up buildings in their wake. At eight the words of Nietzsche- A storm to weather tho it rasped I teach you the superman Man is something that is to be surpassed. Aged ten I left my footprints in the sand. ------------------------------- Later with childhood a forgotten desert I listen to my aching heart Screaming Too much self-obsession Wailing too little recognition. I showed the scars I wrongly thought would prove my strength I leaned toward the philosophers stone I learned to heal myself.
My armies many mutinies left me no one to protect Doomed to die a dismal death of discontent. The great metropolis borne in mind A ghost-town with sand-wash as the only eerie sound. A howl a vertical howl echoed fury through and out my skull Obey me the solopsist! The security of your homes rendered by my fists! With grief such dereliction should bear my name That pride should trickle through the hands of shame I tied a knot I did not dare unite A knot comprising all reality. A shattered illusion refuses yet to still Or break the attestation of my will: Only I can build and fortify my tower Only I can resurrect my long-dead power. I have to take up the trowel again And build upon a vast flood-plain.

Источник: rutube.ru