Class

A poem

Photo by Nikita Fox on Unsplash

It’s too early to pursue the Truth;

To see through the magic and beyond this ruse.

I saw all of you coming through the door;

And thought: How can I reach you to give you more?

Your eyes were half gleaming and otherwise dead,

But your ideas stood somewhat esoteric on the tops of your heads.

I came up with this plan to manage the whole thing;

To make it much more than an everyday dream.

It ends up better when I throw out all of my hope,

And rest modestly on those old isotopes and tropes.

Don’t worry about putting together those chemicals.

Just respond with all of your five senses, ephemeral.

And consider that without the prevalence of a rhyme,

And something definitively worth taking,

That I am the master and purveyor of this

Making. So — Create.