Myself As An Idea Poem by Madrason .

I drunk from the sources
discourses
of SPA,
Gnosticism's Scholar
forced
Alpha to Omega.


A Boustrophedon
trailing through soil,
curling in coil,
folding like a leaf
i leave,
scribe.

Carved personae
sung the couplets,
burned innovations,
personificationed
myself as
an idea.

Not a Narcissus,
revenge is in vain,
but broken mirrors
do refrain
my songs of pain,
it affixes
what conflict is.

How can i eat
the hands that feed,
how can i walk
on broken feet
in a broken beat
lose my face
which is stuck
on a Me
mere identity.

How can i face
my Prussian blue,
that what i sought in you
i fought to do,
while my mirror
turns in error,
for the cracks
have brought us two.