Author Information
Lesser Kings
Your present state of mental fate
is the only surety you have.
What proof is there that memories shared
are not a fabrication
Abstraction of perception is
questionable at least;
and vocalisation of mental schisms is
tolerable at best. But
Shattering would it be to
deprive your life from your
'now,'
And trivialise for all you've strived
with the sweat up off your brow.
Assume with me if you will:
A white-walled room with the memory
of how you're there,
(Simplicity is my aid for the moment)
You will sit there silent
with all being fair
Yet with abnormal happenstance
your mind will flair.
Your train of thought
with your brain being fraught
has stumbled upon a 'thing.'
I have not been present
With death being eternal,
life is relatively naught
And your consciousness;
a moving picture.
The life you recall so personally
from heart
Is a brain creation, a fictional scripture.
You are a schizophrenics artwork,
Being both artist and audience,
unawares of each other.
Director has tinged
the fabricated facts with
horrendous authenticity.
Audience consumes the scenes that play,
gullible in their ignorance and affected
in their trusting.
The result is an indistinguishable self-
deception
that unknowingly warps what we
attribute to ourselves.
This white-washed room is a truth for now,
You know what you're doing, you see
where you are, you understand your
surroundings, yet the future's not too far.
Time will roll at an unsteady speed
in accordance with your conscience
so it is a relatively fallible idea that
time is an unwavering constant.
It is spasmodic, coming and going,
from what we can remember...
That brazen blue sky and
the radiant warming sun
with the sand caressing your toes unsheathed
and water soothing your skin.
This sky was as it has been,
the sun as every day,
The sand irritatingly clingy on skin
that the water could not wash away.
Romanticising these little facts gives
strive to better things,
As it commonly seems, the lives we lead
means we die as lesser kings.
Attempted replications of inexistencies
means we fail before we start.
This inherent deficiency actively resides
in every beating heart.
Yet what if I were to tell you
this seemingly negative trait
is essential to the upkeep of
our seemingly 'civilised' state?
The way our world is structured today,
monotony runs rampant.
In first world life,
to avoid any strife,
we must, of course, conform to
safeguard against our mental fabric
being twisted up and torn.
It is my belief that humans
run a path that is unnatural.
To regiment and repeat routine is to
discomfort the human psyche,
so our head glorifies the unextraordinary
to give fiction to our fact.
It is inherently inconceivable to
believe that we will not peak again, that
we have reached our greatest days.
Creating exaggerations instils some will and extricates
benign disconscience.
So do not bemoan
your seeds thought sown
as you are better off being lied to.
These untruths repose
in your deceptive self
so there is no answer you may pursue.
Do not bother insighting
an internal siege,
you will carry no memory through.
These viscous fabrications
are undermining, yes,
yet they are the truth behind what you call you.
