Before I was, I had to come
To the forefront of death, of life.
And without any doubt of the from;
I now exist amidst the strife.
Without knowledge known to me yet,
No pressures found or even cared
To be of subjects loved or on death;
Without good or bad to compare.
With time comes age, experience,
Of the simple mechanisms:
Addition, subtraction, verbal tense,
And a world of organisms.
Blind still to a crumbling world,
I learn how to feel, as all do;
With touches, with crutches, it unfurls
Into my hands, and slips on through.
Older now, I grasp it once more:
Ideas, perspective, reflection
On knowledge of averages, of poor,
Unfortunate little sections.
This sight of known reveals blind spots
Of subjects that don't concern us;
All around, without sound, they are dots
That escape the human conscious.
Yet, back to me, I struggle with
Chemical influence of age;
Quieted by imbedded self-myths
Concerning enjoyment or rage.
All suppressed into lyrical
Conceptions of my emotion,
Diluting, refuting, actual
Personal ideas or notions.
In current, I come bursting forth.
Assured now I know who I am.
Confidently intent toward north,
Exploring waters through the dam.
The world is bright for discovery.
Those distinctions of good, of bad
Are now known, to no tone that is lovely,
Yet now can be seen just a tad.
Now I can make a difference:
I trebuchet into the future;
Possibilities will open hence
To the means of human suture.