Voyage of the Dissonance Beast

I know not how to put my thoughts to paper,

as in the interim of my mind and mouth

the thoughts are caught in an unintelligible net,

whereby the essence is the catch -

held back and hauled up

by the chains of reasoning.

And the only thing to slip through therewith

is the bone dust of the meaning -

a fossilised clue but not

the entire creature.

The creature has long been dead,

for it was borne to a higher realm

and travelled some distance

to reach the lighthouse calling

of my head.

By which time it was hunchbacked

and blistered;

having fought its way through

tumultuous terrain,

to rest weary on my brain

and brush faintly against my heart.

I look at the paper in wonder:

Surely the creature carried a message

less ominous?

Or perhaps am I so capricious in nature

that the poor creature stands no chance

of begetting the world

its ethereal scripture.

What remains are not thoughts, nor feelings,

but a mere glimpse that once, aeons ago,

our words were untainted miracles.

I am left encumbered with a heavy heart,

an overstuffed brain,

all the feelings and thoughts

too grandiose, too inspiring

to slip through the filter of that odious beast

named Conditioning.

By my cursive misdemeanour

and that beast on my tail,

the true thought dies at my pen tip.