Master of None in the Spoon Sun

I never meant to malinger
But I’m stuck staring at the finger
That points to the migrating moon
While the hand grips a silver spoon
Obscuring the numinous night
Reflecting cold luminous light
More blinding than the sun’s
Counted as one of the lucky ones
This earth could be mine to inherit
If I could ever amount to any merit

Scrambling to be so oblique
About the ethos that I seek
Struggling to articulate
What my mind won't precipitate
Condense these incessant thoughts
Unravel their half hitch knots
For a chance to ease the temporal pains
Kill the ego to relinquish the rains
Impelling wisdom to finally crystallize
In a consciousness greyed by cloudy skies
Pregnant with promises of cerulean blue
Primed to awaken in the viridian dew