Reach For The Stars Poem by Dave SmithWhite

Do I live in a novel dimension?
For it seems a different world.
In a place of joyous invention,
That turns drab words into pearls.

My life is a story of chapters.
Self-mocked by humor and guile.
Bookmarked by tumultuous raptures,
Precociously clockwork in style.

I crave an arcane precision:
That understanding and meaning advance.
Lest the shortcuts that frame indecision,
Sow confusion in slogan-like chants.

My life is a series of fractures,
I steer by the seat of my pants.
A photo-shopped snapshot that captures,
The full chaos of fortune and chance.

I commend the bravest of visions:
Both the order and bedlam of dance.
But I succumb to a crass magic wishin',
When it comes to desire and romance.

I am moved by emotional rhythms.
(A wreck you can see at a glance) .
For there is rent a schism,
That prevents a logical stance.

A jealous note - a prism.
By rote, as if in a trance,
I abhor the cracks and divisions:
My own built facade in askance!

I reject the post-modernist rubrics,
That would spurn the past it supplants.
The tenor of critics and bootlicks;
The horror as the scribbler recants.

To scale the great heights is not hubris,
Like petty gods who see us as ants.
To reach for the stars like a kubrick,
Whose art both intrigues and enchants.

For life, is itself, a puzzle,
For the curious - the wisdom it grants.
And my truth can never be muzzled;
My vistas roll on in expanse.