Lyrical superstar

Lyrical superstar,
Calling out to Jupiter...
Where fore art thou prince of planets?
Where's the higher sepulchre?
Do you define the night in the quantum light?
With your super mass exuding powertrons tonight?
Or like a dove do you take flight?
In symbolic delight...
Serenading all believing...
Seeing God in reverence, alright.
Like a knight I subscribe to the deified purpose,
The calling of the patience of a well formed tortoise.
The paradox being,
For one's so slow,
They last longer than most in his frenzy rodeo au naturel.
They plod at different time speeds,
With their houses on their back.
Like Paul Young, wherever they lay their shell is their home.
Honed.
In the zone.
At slow miles an hour of plodding acumen.
Groan.
The tortoise IS the show.
A life sustaining survivor happy on land or below.
Just chilling in his shell,
Like his teenage mutant ninja turtle mates...
The higher wisdom enforced,
As they tread sub velocity straits.
My vibe is now noticing,
The power of their teaching.
They are nearest to immortals,
Beyond Blue Whales forever searching.
Tortoises are wisdom.
Tortoises are slow.
The high field fast funk of the cosmic power show...
Is a polarised explosion of higher fulgent reason,
But no one will know the names in the fulgent run of times...
Just light fields on an old DVD,
Saying who and how dreams were made.
But the tortoise is oblivious.
Slow and rather dense...
Yet fifty years from now,
I wager you're first dead...
And Lionel the little champ,
Will be trundling on,
Over wastelands of disused iPads...
And Carl's collection of sanitary pads.
This is the call,
The echo to your stream.
Do not fear,
I get all things...
Let us remain serene.