No Idea Poem by chris dawson

in his realm the genius is king,
and in his world a prisoner.
ideas tease him by day,
and taunt him by night
as they pass him by,
few stop but a moment.

if grasped they may consume.
frivolity, indulgence, pre-occupation,
occasionally a platform
to proclaim,
to herald, .
to validate
more often though a shifting sand
of instability.
and so the genius either continues to pursue,
strong in belief,
short on realisation;
or collapses under the weight
of those relentless and unforgiving jackals.