An Ode (or Promise) to the Forgotten Genius

My edified eyes stare at a blank page you have scripted,
Breathing life into my mind’s eye; the sight you depicted.
Is this the only thought you ever had?
Are your words just innocuous dust?
For who plays in the sand
anymore
but children who can’t understand
a pen like yours?
Or can they?
Do they deserve to know you?

On that bookcase you lay,
insignificant matter,
rather decrepit
- today, I took it and read it.
I sat there,
introspective.

A cough and a sniff
- allergies are punishment
to those indolent stiffs
who finally dig wisdom
out of the coffin in which it sits.

I don’t deserve such an honor;
such an exclusive lesson.
Am I the only one who knew this blessing,
or have the others sold your divinity
and put Judas in heaven?

What’s the point in your story
if not the glory of knowing:
people adore me!

To be in vain
is
to be insane!

To see your name
unheard in memory
must burn in your soul
an understanding of hell.

Or am I your enemy
for demanding you tell?

Tell these wicked fools the jewels whose splendor I see!
Show them the beauty you have revealed to me.
For the sake of all words speak the ones you’ve put together!
For how can a soul be a speck of dust,
unnoticed forever?

How many thoughts that
could have sparked fire
be left unknown to
our heart’s desire?

I will consume your mind
till it is my blood and bone
and die, rotting in the earth
as mud and stone;
extracting your words as
food and tools...

the forgotten genius will
rule you fools!