Ode to Fame


The billowing words like sails do blow in the wind.
Crowds gather even in the cold hearted streets,
To listen for a while, perchance to hear
A hymn or some other comforting line
From their own memories and meanings
Burned through down the minutes and seconds
That rush by if you deem to count time that fast.

It is only a reprobate who is never embarrassed
By wanton adulation as people turn wild.
Some chaps do hide their true feelings well
Gauging the levels of obstinacy and control
As the mind boggling battles the heart beating.
Welling up inside, there is only regret
Even as he sees that bills do get paid on time.

The dramatic posturing in the atmosphere floats
Towards a distant magic mountain peak.
“Just pick up the cloak and go!” thunder speaks
And the spell is cast between the hilly pillows,
“How will psychoanalysis show,” Pip squeaks,
“That which is absent from my picturesques?”
The billowing words in space whisper in time. 

Bevagna, 6 10 2014