Mariner of the Mental Plane

March 12, 2011
I wish to be the mariner of the mental plane.

The fairgoer abound to the captain’s rein.

The gangplank inheriting collective sanity,

Was only; not simply, a priest of guided humanity.

Providing peace and a proverb for preemptive memory;

As general of general service for a visual cavalier.

A turtle drowning in a pool of estranged sights;

The darkened brush that paints out the glimmering lights.

This is the reason I was accepted,

This is the reason to why I’m rejected,



Without reason or cause,

Neither a man waiting for boos or awes.

The refuse or applause that is awaiting his boos or awes.

Ranging in pause from the flaws in this clause, only because.

A riddle of a boy he was. When he was young,

Questioning what he knew. Suspecting what is sung.

Talking without knowledge. Appendage without walking.

Teasing; with much to say. Sticks, the stones, and mocking.

Art is what he was,

I can only hope one day you’ll remember a name.

Poetry is his grand cause.

For now, to prove what, what I is, by this reputive shame.

I wish to be the mariner of the mental plane.

The depth to which, or who would never fain.

The crow’s nest, on he; is perched atop.

A caring one who will find your ear, for a moment, to adopt.

Hoist aloud you pitiful sailors!

Doubt upon serenade you miserable wailers!

This world of freedom shackled.

Freedom never questioned.

Freedom for one now haggled.

Freedom for all, haggled away for cents worth fractions

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