The Sea of Beige
So I had a dream and this is what it was about more or less. It's not very original though as I copied some things from other authors(Vonnegut, Heller, Pullman). I'm not really into poetry so I don't know how good it is, I don't even really read poetry that much (except for Percy Shelly and T.S. Elliot). I would greatly appreciate feed back on this so please comment or do something. I hope you enjoy
-Van Rorie
Post Script - This poem is about highschool
Beige and seas of the damn shit; and in the beige lie wallowing, and do so toil the souls of by not their choice reside.
In this beige, in this country of the young, for it is a country of the young were they do become old, or at least mature though not all. In this beige, which is for certain the country of young men, do they all so and try to escape though through often less violent means.
White bleeds, or rather flows through the underside of the beige and in the bottom interior. So stretched and with green vaults that stud it like a collar. And it is, so stretched, to be in infinite measure to the eye, and when not flowing with the fluid that others make would impress upon even the eyes of Kubrick himself.
Walking and doing so hurriedly for they are oppressed by unstopping time, to nearly cross the infinite. They're unequal in there coming into the house as a cup. The cup which is filled with the dropping of rain from a leaky roof, but which, when tipped, flows over violently releasing every drop at once. In that is their joy for when the cup run'eth over do they crawl out, and kicking and thrashing they come out of the sea of beige.
Though the sea does lay, not of itself but of its nature, to seem as if Eden but in the harsh reality of the days it comes to be known otherwise. And though the sea itself is not barren its inhabitants are. The inhabitants which are a series of islands are all deserted. The islands cannot, or rather will not take the blame of the sea. And why should they for the sea is at fault and islands are above that, which like people only take credit where credit is due or at least they should.
The islands themselves are deserted and therefore are most at fault for the futility of the beige sea. But the fluid and dynamic inhabitants of the island do not complain for slowly starving on a barren island is still the superior of drowning, your lungs filling with beige and being overcome and alienated from the rest in the islands. For such islands do not care and many if not all strive for something and all lose in the sense of time, so that they might such as stand now just be their own Pianosa, and they may or their inhabitants may be just as insane.
I also live in the islands in the sea of beige.
I don't want to fly any more missions.
Oh well what the Hell.
Fuck it.
It is rumored, as always is rumored over something, that there is an island that is responsible for the state of the other islands. It is said that in that island which is not barren but is the fulfilled promise of Eden, and they dance and sing, and congratulate one another on themselves because they are wise beyond the centuries, all of them on that island are. They laugh, dancing and singing madly to music and all the rest to the worship of their gods of which the highest order is nothing but the smallest of shrubs. They worship their bush for bringing them out of the dark ages, though this is like all the tales which keep the inhabitants of the barren islands from drowning into the sea of beige just their folly.
We all await the day and the coming. Of he and the one who shall say the truth when none before him dared. It is told almost as the folly of Eden except that it shall be true.
For though the sea is not corrupt the barriers of it are, and all systems eventually destroy themselves whether they be corrupt or not, so that when does come the day of the emptying of the sea there shall be he.
And he shall come into the house and shout so that no one can say they were deaf to him.
He possesses one divine attribute that all of us do possess which is that he is not divine but of the misery which the sea makes us of.
For when the sea is drained to reveal the control that we all have of ourselves we shall not believe it. And to be gripped by Ennui like the warm and friendly ghostly hands of death upon the welcoming dying we shall all stand.
And He shall come into that house and tell all of us. WAKE UP! You were sick but now you're well, and there is work to do.
HE WANTS US TO MARCH! HE WANTS EVERYONE TO MARCH! The line we will all retort to his preposterous ideas and his seemingly newly invented folly.
But he is correct in his motivations and intents, so that only when we do wake up and cast off the chains and coils of the then drained sea can we really be free of it. To at least make Eden for ourselves and safe guard it for the others of other seas.
And though I do not know the color of other seas I know that they are there and like our own, my own beige sea, we shall overcome it and celebrate together in the Eden we make to rightfully glorify each other.
It shall not be folly then.
It shall be our own sea.
Our Republic of Heaven.