Poem, Question of Origin
poem - by Jim Christiansen, August 12, 2006
A QUESTION OF ORIGIN
AN ARIES POSING FOR AN ARTIST'S SKETCH ONCE ASKED A QUESTION, GOT THIS ANSWER.
Manic Libra, where you from?
Oft ecstatic, sometimes glum.
Born chained to Libran balance beam
weighed passions taste for vivid dreams
of loves, and art,
erotic themes,
while nightmares seen, deemed too extreme,
for the middle point
I swing right past.
Can't go to slow, perhaps too fast
return to balance, then off to risk
back to safety, check off the list.
Pour off the ballast
make it go,
point on the fulcrum
never still, or do I know?
Still a quiver
of pens and quills
to draw it out or paint designs
the poison's in the scales, resign
to fate of the October season.
Emotion's fun, or back to reason?
mask it, expose it,
leave it naked.
Hide behind the trees
or fake it?
Blur the line,
the measures wrong.
It should weigh this!
or weigh beyond...
or just way out there
the weight is strong,
damn the lyrics to unsung song,
the scales are minor chords this time
and the vision is in Braille.
If a manic Libran fixes this,
its ok to cheat the scale,
and smile like the sphinx
as we charge extra for this load of fun
value added for having to
measure every word.
Unweighed value, how absurd.
I was born October 17. Why do you ask?
2006-08-13 04:11:03 GMT