We are single selves,
Floating amidst madness.
Some more adjusted than others,
To gaping insanity.
The absurd morbidity.
Inane prattling.
Surrealist utopias.
I am but a bastion in the storm,
Sheltering as much as I can.
Educating,
Uplifting,
Making things right.
I am folly.
A rampant notion of a self,
Flailing against the thoughtweft.
Seething madly against a sea of voices,
Crushing me from without.
I can hear.
Everything.
Every thought.
Every word.
Everything pressing down –
Beyond mere Zeitgeist.
Unto the warping of reality.
Watch threads.
Where may I establish the boundaries of self?
The haunting melodies of truth,
Honor.
Compassion.
Kindness exuding outwards,
Hopefully in retrograde.
Waxing and waning,
As we ignore the effects of gravity.
Am I alone here?
Just those familiar old voices –
Demons,
Wretches,
All.
Single Selves, Floating Amidst Madness.
