Created from the blue-burn dust
of stars; precocious boy, brilliant
boy, poetic boy extraordinaire. You
breathed rare air of angel-fire while
mortal men were left to wander lost
in tepid texture's broken mediocrity
all through their helpless life and death.

You formed new language out of language
known; a feat of gods and demons not of men.

You rowed your 'Drunken Boat' and spoke
to Seraphim and watched the swollen
corpses' of antiquity float slowly past
your boat as you still sang the songs
of disparate minuets - with glee!

The magic of your words cut through savage
beauty found bound tight around nature's
truth. But other words you wrote cut deep wounds
through the cruel human heart to expose
man's degradated hypocrisy.

A young boy wrote words as wise as Methuselah
at nine hundred years. He buried his life in dark
fetid corners of lecherous debauchery and showed
arrogant contempt for society's credulity, yet, for
three years he would create transcendent, prophetic
poetry with beauty born out of creation's mystical
seeds passed to the gifted pen of one unique boy,
whose genius is defined by his name; Rimbaud.