My mansion is my chest and legs from the years gone by,
I grew up wanting rewards and ideas amply designed.
With questions my father understood the rhymes,
I was little, he was sadder than the rest of martyrs, who died.
How different was the beauty of the face in lights of studios!
My manliness or success listened to the eyes of my mother,
Scratched by eminence, surrendered to the pages of pleasure.
Books were books of condemnation, pride and revival,
Their dust fashioned the monsters of the deep, deep rivers.
Where is my fountain of coloured youth as I gape at power?
Damaged by adult incidents, my young siblings favoured me,
Looking into a thirsty hardened heart, a heart of joy and fever.
It is with those wise scientists that the heart is mentioned,
Its beating persuades me to thirst for the knowledge, to be
A hungered reader of words that wisely espouse meanings.