A distraction wakes me from my slumber,
by Scribbler Sheridan
Sleep, a shadow of my eternal state,
Today I imagine might be my number,
How it might happen is a matter of fate.
Yet, I must soldier on to make my mark,
Rising above the chores, the pettiness and the night dark,
Better men may not think this oft,
In the bottom of a glass or sombre settings aloft.
Or in the trenches with explosions abound,
And as a marker to show the world lowered into the ground,
As a philosopher-king as a reminder said,
Are ways normal to cue the ever dead.
For me though the struggle is perennial and eternal,
Rise above the banality of life I shall,
Kings, prophets and seers be damned,
Ozymandias, Solomon and David's memories be lammed.
My ideas, thoughts and visions for humanity,
Shall spread like a deadly plague unchecked,
My mortal coils shall surely be forgot,
Sic transit Gloria Mundi - my immortal soul still has a shot.