To flourish in deceit, I must repeat,
Has always struck humanity
As rather neat, a romance with the magical
Where the various visions of the presdidgious
Became both necessary and somewhat religious.
The sticks and bricks, the blood and bones, the grins and moans
The dreams and screams we use to create our means
Require what inspires us to form from ice and fire
With delight and ire whatever we might believe to fabricate,
Domesticate the dragons so eager to determine our final fate.
There is no absolute to sing our ultimate unique song,
No twists and tangles of this or thats we might accept as truth
Since truth is mere mirage of duck and dodge to remain.
A subterfuge of lovely tries to formulate a tool of lies that works
For an interim, a style that functions in satisfaction for a while.
Currently, it appears, our devious perversions are corroded,
Punctured into flakey idiotics administered by psychotics
To crack and crumble, back into the dust from which they formed.
Our gestures to the stars are decaying into eagerness for self-destruction
With Ozymandias clearly muttering on our future now sputtering.
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