Ego

People are capable of such pretty words,
they weave them, in-out, so brilliantly,
while saying absolutely nothing,
echoes of dreams of forgotten scenes,
lost in time,
sewn through our mind,
in language,

such beautiful, desirable words make us forget,
disgust, shame, reality, blame,
lost in linguistics to numb our eyes,
perceive chaos as if there is order after all,
deafen the noise of seas below,
through clanging bells and dancing feet,
ignore bloodshed in fervors of conjured passion,
desire to exist with purpose,
forget who you are,
be lost in poetry,

claim ownership of existential experiences,
experts in building masks for godheads,
gowns for archons,
cover their illuminated exposure,
to covet and possess deviant light,

men write so beautifully-they can-without a step from the box,
looking over the edge,
shouting information back for the rest,
but many are blind,
and shout only what they hear.