Acts Of Creation Poem by Raj Dronamraju

I've had it with depth and I've had it with feeling
I want to reach inside and tear a piece out and throw it on the ceiling
Sistine chapel, man can't quite touch his own myth
He finds himself tongue tied and inarticulate without meeting his full potential

You harvest your own memories and feed them into the combine
These were the high times
Recognized as such
These were high times
Not recognized as such
The thresher doesn't differentiate between the chaff, it pulps all the same

I am selling the purest possible mixture and I am selling the distilled new essence
I will remove each filter from my imagination one by one like thorns from the paw of a lion
They will never see how I wrung myself dry
They will not fully recognize each drop of creation