The vastness of ultimate solitude
crushes you and suffocates you
You were stillborn in the womb of time
You who live in the madman's house
and have locked him in the basement
You are not Lord of the Manor
Shame!
Fear made the bed you sleep in at night
It colors the phantasms of perception
The theater of recollection
and the projection of resurrection
The crucifixion of thine own Son
Who knows what strange things lurk
in the hearts of Men
A beast of passion
that devours his own Genius
A clever architect
that built the labyrinth too well
The corridors of the mind
twist always inward
and burrow downward
towards the lair
of dark Fantasy
Dream a dream and stumble
searching for the ghost
of a ghost that is your true-false self
These slumbers are pilgrimages
to a blasphemous Holy Land
Hidden but not Lost
Socrates drank the hemlock
A man of conscience
was born to die
To scale Olympian heights
with haughty confidence
And take flight
on the wings of conviction
A wise man is a critic
and a critic stands alone
at the center of a void
Shifting sands underfoot
All facts are provisional
And all men are the facts they choose
To judge without warrant
and hold the whole world in your eye...
If every man is a kingdom
This man is a republic of tyrants
A contradiction of contradictions
The most foolish of the Wise
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click here to read full poem (written daily, May 9th - June 8th 2010 AD)
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