In the chaos, in the storm,
I cannot see the shape, the form.
The patterning, if you will,
That repeats unless, until.
Until there’s shades of omniscient,
In distances at last, sufficient. . .
Meaning flows like a spring.
How it flows is interesting.
Will it be partial or complete?
Disturbing or a sounding sweet?
I’m captive here in this abyss,
Looking for signs I might’ve missed.
I see the gray, I see the clouds,
I see faces, frightened crowds.
A painful sight to behold.
Creation, as it still unfolds.
How this fear, it seizes me,
Despite its utter falsity.
A story swirling in a mind.
The start of which I cannot find.
Derived from cause on top of cause,
In deference to a set of laws.
Laws in place for only some,
To keep those crowds under thumb.
Not mine or yours, but then who?
A better man with much ado?
What makes a man a better man?
What is it that he understands?
Does he see through the tales be told?
Does he see minds being controlled?
To realize that this mind is mine,
But used in ways so unkind.
In the distance, this I see.
This is how it will be.
To appreciate what’s been lost.
To lose and truly feel the cost.
To get it back and to keep it.
To know, and then to speak it.
The loss, a must to see and feel,
To glean illusion from the real.
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