Dreams of Tommorrow. Today.

[tectak]

I am the product of optimism, the fool, dreaming
for the unconditional freedom with respect to oneself.
THE Idiot who cries against the wall of the church
Telling them Science is Spirit; Spirit is Science.
The liar who shines his light on truth
The one who tells you science is Politik
It is a Religion: Atheism its Deity. Lady Physik
The Churches of today: homes of Truth?
Even the profane can sense my acerbic pen.
I cry.
I laugh.
I burn with the spirit of change.
Then like the pages of history prove
When I am greeted with change I fear it fleeting
Like it always does to the lukewarm.

ZM

Errr....don't tell me, let me guess. You are a condom on the prick of progress that just burst. No? OK. Seriously, I give up...and that is the problem. The whole piece is a jumble of angsty alphabet soup. It says nothing to me except "hear my words". You must get some order in to it. You have burgeoning thoughts but I don't want to know them in this acetylcholine avalanche. Calm down and carry on but if you WANT to write poetry as a priority you must be able to distinguish between quantity and quality...if you don't, then just keep writing this sort of stuff. Others will like you because they are like you. Please, though, stop capitalising every damn line. It is retro, confusing and faux-poetic. Spelling mistakes are often typos....but not in the title.
Best and don't stop writing,
tectak