The System

Dreams of past pleasures cling suspended,
as if Stewie Griffin's magical time machine,
or a new century's "Yellow Submarine",
can restore revered illusions.

But above gravity's belfry,
the tone of desires
held fast by our eagerness to enjoin,
seduces our senses,

idles our guard,
and unlocks imagined doors
preciously bolted.

All the while we expect the return,
nirvana's long-ago reality,
believing we can continue to live
beneath the waves.

But forever awash drifts the flotsam,
and jetsam of our created history,
glyphs afloat Time's miscarriage of justice,
tinsel plutocrats we allowed to glower
at our submerged attention deep below

the whitecaps of misbegotten urges.

While some…

the stillborn of purpose,
amid stagnant amniotic fluids,
sink further,
resigned to be but

dredge-worthy bottom feeders,
wallowing in darkness seen only
by synthetic light above.

Our incorporeal destiny

confined by the blur-significance,
pulses the swells atop
the tsunamis awaiting deeper shifts,
understanding patience forges

the System.