UNDER THE BEATEN LAMP
they said i was heartbroken, i said a part of me died
they said i was hurting, i said i was mourning
in the words of Carl Jung, the boy in me died
the Puer Aeternus had to die for my survival
mourning was essential to release the man,
the man suppressed by the continued existence of the boy
he died of waiting, the man arose from acting
survival was choking, and so living life was a necessity
lacing up the shoes was the only thing left untouched
not to run from the taunting past, oh no, far from it,
but to run into the necessary future, into the vision
a book on the desk, a glow shines on it from the beaten lamp
a glow that the Puer Aeternus would have urged to wait a little longer,
to wait until it was brighter, better for the eyes
but the man, Senex, that is all he needs to create a boundary,
yes, a boundary that shuts out the darkness of the past
under the glow of the lamp, discipline turns dreams into strategic plans,
a blueprint that guides the growth of the monster
a creature sworn to the mission of the future,
where any writings will be a contract,
a contract between the mind and the man
as the clock turns, an alarm sounds from afar
time for the Puer Aeternus’ whispers to be ignored
time for the lamp’s light to hit the page
time for the ink to inscribe the first contract,
effectively signing the death certificate
of the Puer and the charter of the Man
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