Pen and Fin

Impress me with your grin.
It seems a sin, flapping through
the air with no wing; only a fin.
More at home with a pen and tome, to roam the inter-dimensional
pockets of the mind.
Digging down deep, delving delicious trinkets,
what will I find, what will I keep.
To sleep on this devilish design
is to weep at the passing of time.
The grime of the day sweeps through my brains'
door, enough to choke me,
and fill me with regret of a mid-century whore.
Not that I bore into my sub-conscience but
ignoring these thoughts brings a real consequence.
I digest the world with my eyes,
feeding my soul it's due supplies.
I watch for the last sunrise to give
rise to my conquest.
The contest I put before myself,
on a shelf it sits for the day I come
to know good health.
The wealth of inspiration proves
illusive, obtrusive. At times I lose my destination.
It is my own condemnation keeping me from self-inflation.
The need inflames, sustains the wane of helpless pain.
Drained, I sometimes comb through a different world view.
I know far too few ways to think anew.
I chew my cheek, whilst I search and seek.
A peeled peek of entropy, philosophy borrowed hypocrisy.
It's ever so easy to contemplate hate born tyranny.
To place value with the absurdly untrue. Brew dark clouds of acid washed thoughts,
some are caught only when the fires of superstitious persecution grow too hot.
So why not? Tie the damaged into a knot, you're feelings on this are for naught.
Brought forth the majorities, lathered clean like college girl sororities.
The chastity tricked into blasphemy, toy with thee.
Can you not see? Creation is our life, like a soul bound wife, we cut into reality
as quick as a hot knife.
Painting on canvas and walls alike, our strife for all to bear witness.
It is our mental fitness at stake,
trying to stand still as the floor quakes,
we show these mistakes.
It takes from us the wretched thoughts, working for nothing,
same as programmed robots.
I'm not like that lot. I imply intricacies, intent implications to incinerate intimacy.
Integrated illness instituted impossibly imperfect ideologies.
I come from the cosmos to light fire to society.
The chaos of stars lay bare its' scars, yet we know its policy.
Transparency is not tolerated, abated, or consecrated.
Concentrated, I yearn to learn now to burn away misconceived perceptions.
The inception of creation flows free from fingers alighted in delighted detail.
Hail! To the poor banished children of Eve!
It's time you are no longer deceived.
Relieved, of that cleaved off notion,
you are now in motion.
A demotion of your identity spelled out phonetically, repetitively.
Explore more, soar with your dreams to whom allegiance
you once swore.
Dig down deep to the primordial core, for I have now unlocked that door.