A narrative has been imposed,
While what is real lies in repose.
Lies to make it through the day.
A means for reckoning’s delay.
This creature’s culture is a story.
It’s life always an allegory.
For the sake of word’s demanding.
Tales employed for understanding.
Of this, and that, and what seems real.
For furthering the great reveal.
More and more, these tales are ridden,
By those lies and truths they’ve hidden.
Not by an accident or mistake.
By the reality they forsake.
In righteousness, stupidity,
Foundations of liquidity.
It stabs the flesh with a rope.
Insanity of unbound scope.
Revolutions of this creature.
Is it a flaw or a feature?
The tower’s full but won’t yet pour.
They’ve found some hell, but still want more.
In other’s worlds of make believe.
Where they willfully deceive,
Themselves and who they want to be.
Denying wills to be free.
How long before this turns around?
When there’s a shift, a resound?
A realize, a reclamation?
A truthing, and a revelation?
When the blind suddenly see.
The keepers of reality.
Ones with charges, wills and whim.
Losing the grip on their last limb.
On the edge of the abyss.
Where progeny will reminisce,
Bout silent graves they’ll whistle past,
The one’s who won, the one’s who last,
And of the others, fallen prey?
Remember them and their way.
As seedlings of the future turning.
The one they’re all currently earning.
© 2021 TheRememberings Ltd.