The unknown it analyses,
The truth that is confined.
Black box of mystery’s,
Tools to set and find.

Axiom to choose,
Hold what not to loose.
Axiom of premise,
Domain of voice.
Infinity in what’s empty,
A category of noise.

The mystery to seek,
Is not all so bleak.
The joy to find what’s in the dark,
Can cast an unknowable spark.

"How?" I am asked.

Tax. Incremental siphoning.
"Service changes"

"Greedy!" I am accused.

Relax. Manufactured crash.
"Bad economy."

"Incompetent!" It is exclaimed I am.

Facts. Distort reality.
"Fake or foreign elements."

"Fascist!" It is said of me.

Craps. Gambled living.
"Sweating like a ***** in church."

"Pig!" I am called.

Animals. **** philosophy.
"Your life should be in service."

"Dictator!" It is written of me.

Preach. Misinterpret history.
"And God rested on the seventh day."

"Monster!" It is all that's left of me.

Kingly. Total war.
"On the first day, God said,"

Divide and conquer, deride compassion.
Indulgent resentment exposes the actions.
Wolves dressed as lambs, lambs as wolves.
Nobody believes in good ideas.

Craft deceptive reasons behind the words of love.
Stuff your victims into the dark, cramped box.
Do your work quietly, with discipline.

When the red moon rises
the energy of broken breaths
strengthens your existence.
Illusory peace as a weary sigh.

You laugh
when they try to unmask your behavior
Whispering: just another pathetic attempt
of hysterical souls, not pragmatic solutions.

Different actors, new stages.
You’re always the same,
Irresistible.

It's really easy to write
Like you're for the hardline right
And far-flung conspiracies.
Easy to address as a member of the left
Like you believe in extreme liberalism
And wild ideas.
And then there's a center,
Or so I've heard.
For the intellectual or versus,
For the institution or against;
For the fascist,
For the anarchic.

It's all so archaic.

The third eye,
Is a bird’s eye,
View on a hurt guy,
Within a dirt life.

Since first flight,
Cut with a big knife,
By Dad and his wife,
Who gave me life.

What hurt Dad?
Who hurt Dad’s wife?
So much strife,
In this foul scented life.

Bitterness so rife,
In these brown eyes,
Since all that I,
Know is to,
Trust that third eye.

as the rest move in a herd in time, fixed and onward
some remain at a pace of their own
slower,
wallowing in crevices, an act of conscious apartheid
familiar with the shortage of influence, that is, separation.
wandering by will
vicariously living through a phobia of confusion
hence why lost souls remain lost
fear of false direction, fear of decision
uncertainty amongst hysteria
a deadly duo for the few
settlement has become still
and those lost are familiar with movement
2 steps forward, 12 steps scattered
here and there and it's unclear
up and down
its all around the dance to delusion goes to no sound
but illusion.
distress within the body whose mind follows curiosity
incessant pondering yields a detriment
to the thinker,
be about
your quest and breed your farewell to the
blissful life of ignorance
that now follows you
-
is there a solace to be found for these creatures?
has the point of no return passed?
the distance behind is immeasurable
for the path previously paved is dimly lit
to decipher the single instance is a feat of all men
does the lone wolf recall?

Paralysis by analysis
overthinking life and all
its complexities...

I think:

Truth, what is it?
When everyone feels as if they
know
and feel
even ****
in the name of this 'Truth'

I ask why...

What's the basis for that certainty
Is it something born through analogy?
I see that we are all mistaken, guilty
Of that condescension!

Pretensions

Self-deception!

The irony of this age of technological
innovation
is that it has become fancy
to crave disinformation

Truth is what we think we possess
in this great idiocy of the masses.

“What about me?”
I asked.
My whisper echoed
Against the glass.
The reflection
Whispered back,
“Never enough”.