The type took true shape inside time so long ago,
In my head, a seed of text begins sprouting to grow,
From air words picked two by two 'till stanzas appeared,
Scribbled on canvas was a fear for classification, but now I stand style cleared,

Writing 'till the dark flirts,
Thinking about a bulb,
Trawling books full of word,
Telling you what I heard,

Now I wish I could just let go, take pen to paper like the last time together,
How they flowed, and churned, then chimed with basic rhyme on basic structure,
When did blue dye become mathematics and science in barely a moments notice?
As a fire fly in a night's sky, a dot robbed of grandeur by the billion sparks of the ceiling’s shouting voice,

Shook a million holy books,
Checked every glossary,
No-one owns a monopoly,
Insurance shared it slowly,

We crush a thousand works of art and chat crying we're lost,
An eternal menu of talents is put to silence cost,
But a critic wouldn't admit it, but a fan wouldn't say,
Take my words away.   Let them keep you awake,    I prey for days,