The pathos of an Aquarian

The motive of his life was to soar high
Above the mud, the dirt, the green grass-blades; 
Beyond the golden seasons of the rye; 
Leaving the corners o' the solemn shades—
And yet, quite frequently, rash turbulence
Of more potent momentum would attack. 
It'd send him through violent tumbling menace, 
Then, to the lower lands, he was forced back—
But, that has never mattered much to him, 
Because he was made of something aerial. 
Those magnificent heights to him would seem
Like good materials to build his burial. 
Thence, he has found himself a dying fire, 
And via the flame—his soul did soar higher.

Dale Chou
2001-04-25