deepundergroundpoetry.com
Egocentric Predicament
I am a creator of all Heavens and Earth
My mystical powers are evenly dispersed
What sanctuary awaits for all who come see!
That all things created, are created by me :D
In the lobes of reality that spur me to think
Are the same limitations that require me to blink
So many dreams I suppress for the many that come through
I realize my mind is more complex than I knew
The ultimate controller of my autonomic being
So submissive, I am, to such compulsive demeaning
My mind overwhelms and sets out to relieve
My senses are the enforcers that doom me to perceive
In a matrix i'm aroused by a perpetual dream
Where my life's simulation is the constant theme
With a mind instructed to believe such things
Can 1's and 0's develop beings?
My world around me is not what I see
All things that I thought, understood, or perceived
Characteristics are created only when I react
But my world I created is nothing like that
This phaneron of labels I memorize or define
Are distractions I created by my treacherous mind
Self destruction is amidst this incurable fate
For I have punished myself with suffering, death, and decay
Realism is truly my only escape
I am as complex as the things I create
Though, I fear what I think is based on belief
But, then, who programmed a mind to think of such things?
My mystical powers are evenly dispersed
What sanctuary awaits for all who come see!
That all things created, are created by me :D
In the lobes of reality that spur me to think
Are the same limitations that require me to blink
So many dreams I suppress for the many that come through
I realize my mind is more complex than I knew
The ultimate controller of my autonomic being
So submissive, I am, to such compulsive demeaning
My mind overwhelms and sets out to relieve
My senses are the enforcers that doom me to perceive
In a matrix i'm aroused by a perpetual dream
Where my life's simulation is the constant theme
With a mind instructed to believe such things
Can 1's and 0's develop beings?
My world around me is not what I see
All things that I thought, understood, or perceived
Characteristics are created only when I react
But my world I created is nothing like that
This phaneron of labels I memorize or define
Are distractions I created by my treacherous mind
Self destruction is amidst this incurable fate
For I have punished myself with suffering, death, and decay
Realism is truly my only escape
I am as complex as the things I create
Though, I fear what I think is based on belief
But, then, who programmed a mind to think of such things?
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