The Real

My attitude measured up against your you, is not the sign of just rule, but rather of justified license to kill.  By extending myself over the end of your beginning I reason within that if you were my friend, you would humbly defer to my will.  I need not worry about the potters who have shaped you before your era of revelation, because at the moment I am lacking elation, and the highlighting of your righteous indigestion is currently my satiation.  I don’t waste time – I just spend it where I please, and I spend it with ease, strolling among the geese and the geezers, waiting for one of my investments to unfreeze.  But as I wait, the process makes me cold, directing shivers down to my soul, exit stage left, but what about the show?  I don’t know.  I mean I do know, but I don’t want to.  It’s so much easier to sacrifice the clear view of reality, for the hazy fragmented partition that the masses hold as true.  I mean – why start a thorough revolution, when 75% of one will do?  Why raise the bar, when simply holding it will suffice?  The world is so far behind, and people so desperate for a mind in their mind that marginal difference is astronomical no matter what kind.  I can see the world so clearly, because I’ve taken pains to see myself.  But sometimes those pains pierce my emotions unexpectedly, and the tears overtake me, and I find myself wandering through a void.  I want to reach out, but I hesitate.  Annoyance is a pie of which I reflexively partake, extending myself into the realm of other people’s space, with no probes of grace – simply because I can.  Because I understand what’s real, and am using it to my advantage… But then I ponder the virtue of my actions.  I ruminate on the necessity of my expression, versus the dire need for real truth to make a global impression, and I ask myself the crucial question –

What REALLY matters?



~The Wordsmith


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