Impure

The course of virtual realities
Held steady streams in glistening purities
That belonged to deluded deities;
Their wrongs, unacknowledged.
Because their temples
Must have been of
Superior import
Than those considered to be
Lesser; inferiorities
Being duped by ignorances
By their own arrogances,
Spittling at their own
Transfigured transgressions.


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The Cost of Belief

There was a time I believed
In a fantasy place.
I built a temple on
Corinthian orders
Of paranoid imagination,
Ornate acanthus leaves
Chiseled into fine lunacy,
Screeds of data scrolled
Into voluted borders,
As fluted grooves of belief
Sang to me, ’twas reasoned.

But eventually,
In disbelief, I
Watched the wrecking ball
Of objective participants
Demolish the columns
I had sculpted with
Time and attention
Instantaneously,
Left in ruin.

I won’t build temples again.

I wish
You had chosen life instead.
I had wanted to see magic
At least once.

-Sabs-