A Wandering Thought
I find the thought swimming back ever so often
Its tail doing little work as if it wandered back into my mind by accident
To think I had envisioned a cerebral ocean residing above
Only to be apprised of boxed waters, large no doubt, but small enough to welcome ancient residents
I find the thought swimming back with more meat on its back
Its maw forever gaping, in search of fresh thoughts; shapes that have not yet emerged from their wet shells
All to be devoured by their cannibalistic cognate
I suppose one ought to expect nothing less from a fry
That was fed aplenty before it went further down
I find the thought swimming back with a genial shoal
Its eyes now white and scarred, wearing the face of a corsair
Those it cannot kill, it calls to flout
Pray tell what could have created such a callous creature?
Off it goes once more, leading a morose school before an answer arrives
I find the thought swimming back was all part of an elaborate plan
So olid, I'm appalled I failed to catch its scent
How does one miss a tide during tranquil times?
Upon its next visit, my hands will have memorised the shapes of various death tools:
A harpoon, a knife, a club, a spike, a machete, an axe, a hammer and a pike
All trained to perform their task with swift efficiency
All rendered useless when the target eludes each strike!
I seek not only its demise, I pray for its torment, a thousand lashes or a thousand cuts, I care not
As long as it compensates for my purgatory
Each scale pulled from its foul form, I want it acquainted with agony
Each muscle welcoming atrophy like a lost kin
Each rod and each cone meeting fire, I want it burning blind!
I want its jaws locked and the key thrown into a borehole, my young thoughts must leave infancy whole and intact
The survivors, with their frantic dispositions, have already made plans to bolt the doors and leave me without Sleep's visits
My only hope is to slaughter them all before they decide to join that cacodemon
This unholy fiend has pushed me unto Lunacy's lap
Its mere presence poisons my sanity, its whispers I fear open the doorways to delirium
I want it lacerated! I want it bled out! I want it dead!
I find the thought swimming back every day
Am I meant to forever be chained to its pernicious game?
Must I be made a prisoner, until freedom grows tired of evading me?
All I can do is watch
All I can do is wish.
All I can do is want.
For the time will come, that I know, the thought will remove its wary skin; finally abstracted
And I will retrieve the necessary tools, with no interest to make it slow or fast,
Just the need to make it happen.