Reality

Can you keep up this masquerade?
Why don’t you give up this big charade?
You can only dig so deep with that overused spade
Until the difference between what’s real and what’s not begins to fade

Is it really worth it, this big façade?
Don’t you think that it’s rather odd
That this pitiful act would be necessary, if there truly is a God?
But, for such an entertaining show as this, I can give you nothing but laud.

How is it that you can trick reality
With such synthetic congeniality?
It brings me to swiftly question your depraved, unfeeling sense of morality
And to wonder if this, like everything else, is truly actuality.

Frightfully well-crafted is your dubious mask
I can’t help but admire how well you perform your arduous task
Of fooling the world with such smoke and mirrors.
Is it any wonder that you have no peers?

Reality. Reality. What a subjective term.
Its walls are fragile and brittle and nowhere close to firm
It’s easily obscurable and effortlessly changed
Yet so indefatigable that it still may seem unchanged

But what if I were to tell you
That what we call reality
Can be perceived doubly
With more than one thing being true?

Dear reader, I ask you to look in the mirror
What is it that you see, as you intently peer
At the reflection of a being
That in endless ways it could be seen?

Do you see a man or do you see a monster?
Is it easily understood or hard to construe?
The image may be beautiful, or it could be ugly
Upon it a definition may be impossible to ascribe, or one may fit snugly

But what makes the monster and what makes the man?
If anyone can answer that question, you certainly can
For it’s you, dear reader, who allocate meaning
And to give you less power would be utterly demeaning

Then continue your act
It seems that here what’s necessary’s tact
Reality will beckon
But it’s us with whom it must reckon
And the power that we possess, which lies within our labyrinthine mind
Just may be the greatest capacity of our kind