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Description
Unseen by all but the second self he moulds his hair with parfin,
Sweet midnight oil set alight, slow burning, melting year on year.

Dry feathers await the touch of wax, half clipped,
frustrated but optimistic, dressed in Loplop skin.

Thought is merely a vessel; the light, not the candle.
The sky is not chosen, but the objective is clear.

The semaphore sinks it's head, Eager to reveal it's signal.
When it come's he'll take wing and transcend.

Description
Unseen by all but the second self he moulds his hair with parfin,
Sweet midnight oil set alight, slow burning, melting year on year.

Dry feathers await the touch of wax, half clipped,
frustrated but optimistic, dressed in Loplop skin.

Thought is merely a vessel; the light, not the candle.
The sky is not chosen, but the objective is clear.

The semaphore sinks it's head, Eager to reveal it's signal.
When it come's he'll take wing and transcend.