Imma be awesome and try prose for just a while more.

current mood and thoughts:

towers of ivory and books keep guard
the aquiline nose buried under
the keen eyes dart through prose
the mind scurry amongst labyrinths
but the spirit doesn't age
it stays supple
clean
naive

and one day
unceremoniously
inevitably
painfully
cast right outside the ivory gates
with nothing but the weight of the mind
full of words and equations and pictograms
but none of the reason and logic and sensibilities

the aquiline nose buried under snow
the keen eyes dart dully and then stops
the mind scurry amongst the insanity of unpreparedness
and then the spirit ages