but if the prose can’t catch it

it’s all up to verse

which will inspire

in Biblical proportions

like a flood

or tornado

usurping homes from Kansas

to a Prison called Oz

and that’s just the early shot

in rise of disillusionment

at the absolute failure

to live up to the legend

that I created & scripted

in my very own mind.

Indeed, it becomes an albatross

suspended around my neck

as I wallow in poetics past

of a long bygone century

that still resonates with unerring beauty.

It would be something to behold

but maybe not from their perspective.

It might not have been so bleak

but for life as a government clerk

and feeling rather useless.

Idiocy in a nutshell

in this existential satori

which sheds old light on new subject;

seems like I had less choice

than even I reckoned before.