New from Old

Beauty.
It doesn’t fade, it can’t leave.
It always tears. Burns.
Swollen built up torn requiem-esque
Crumbled and burnt bits of lost hearted
Faded knowledge poetry failing
To encompass the little things and
All that jazz.
That beat. I hear it and feel it.
That tickle, that dare.
Fun is just right there.
All its special oblivion.
With its comforting indifference.
I found out that I am not as smart
As I thought I was.
I am not as lucky
Or as fortunate
Or even as Cool.
And that is fine.
That is good.
As long as it is real.
I just want to see reality.
Breaking like a sunset.
And try to smile at those I love.
While forgetting the things
Which never really
Mattered.
Now, if you will excuse me,
I think I have some pressing matters
At hand.
I have to welcome the Future.
Congratulations, sexy.