Monday, December 29, 2014

To be, to act, or act upon, and in what portions? That is the question

The pains
of reflection;
so many facets
as sharp shards
of our own
page of stage.
Seeking the set
where others reflect from.

How do we look
upon what we might imagine
we want to be
seen as?

How perverse the need
for other windows
upon which to grind
the meat
of what we feed
back on.

You ask,
in the echos chambered
in the mind revolver
you cannot aim,
where's the edge
to cleave between
too little and
too much of being
an actor presenting
creative facts
of destruction.
Tearing down to buld
fragile shells
legoing as both the wall
and the thing
to humpty dumpty from.

We've cast
our minds as parts
of toys we make
to believe in,
even as we watch
what they show
us of what we've made
of play.
And thus becomes
a drug
for the power
in recognition and
the final zero sum
competiion of being
made of more
than the other guy.

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