Scowling from the battlements of his soul’s castle at the world below,
At the savage mob clamouring to invade his solitude,
Retreating, with a toss of the head, into sovereign silence,
He mystified the real with curmudgeonly grace....
Melancholia in the blood,yes,some people are just born that way, and can never be rid of the facts, whatever their yearnings and attainments....and of course there is no final resolution, only a fool would expect that,and,whatever else this boy is he is not a fool...
Accept so as to reject, enquire so as to enquire again, with a different form of words, that is the best you can do...
Least alone in the alone, capture what you may, and let the sometimes harsh decisions fall. Such is your inheritance, which you, in turn, in time, will shed into other hands.
Pirate, dilettante, plunder the high seas of cargoes, and bury secret treasures on scattered isles. The parrot musing on your shoulder is the oracle of the world.
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