Disturbance

If we create all we feel,
All,
That's real.
If we form the space we fill,
Make this place,
Seem so ideal.
It's hard to find a home for hate,
When at times,
It's touch,
Lays so near concealed.
Slipped between conditions,
And,
Slipped between unspoken fear.
That,
Self perpetuated,
Deregulated,
Mission,
Those,
Notions,
Those,
Extremes.
Those,
Fine veiled mares,
Of nights and dreams.
Are all but masters,
Except,
For choice,
Except for,
Our acceptance.
In the presence,
Of their,
Disturbance.