The Insurrectionist
Are we really all so justified
In our blindly trusting ties
Bound as victim to the tide
The shore's self-defeating slide
Into erosion, corrosive pride
Where fractured filaments lied
In premasticated fabrications
Spit back out, wide-eyed dilations
Thoughtless forms of meditation
All led us back to here.
Baptized both by fire and fear
Muddling through the very clear
Dimmesdale-packaged preaching
Plastic-wrapped magazines impeaching
Virtue with perjury's beseeching
Mercy for its slandered speech.
Another doubter into the breach
Where discontented masses reach
For connection to themselves.
Self-help books on battered shelves
Epics of men, dwarves and elves
Distract us from believing.
Time capsules are deceiving
As any truth worth perceiving
Is found in clawing up from crashing down
We're all alone in a room of clowns
And we're the closing joke.
As the laughter drowns our final choke
Perspective swirls in vapid smoke,
Burns away all time's reclusions
Fills our lungs with our delusions
Marks our souls with dark contusions
Lost inside our own illusion.
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