Scott Donald Sanderlin
Beggar's pen writes a word.
Fool's question later:
"What force drives that word?"
A frightening answer sallies forth:
"A force not strange, it's estranged - his brain."
There is intelligence,
Lurking behind the walls of his skull.
But one must not smash the walls
To gain the treasure.
One must gain entrance with stealth.
There, the One with strength to reign
But dismembered, cannot give a hand to help -
Does not bleed - wounds sealed
With a kiss from the Angel.
Oh, if she knew.
I wake up.
That's one of my many "psychedelica" pieces. I wrote that back in 199??, sometime when I was, well...and trying to reel in the wealth of those experiences with words I was struggling with and with technique that looks shaky - in a way. But the intent was well-placed even if the content was less refined.
To live is to wonder.
To wonder is to live.