The Aesthete
Thinking Plague
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Me! Just me! All for me.
I spent a lifetime scheming for me,
teaching and preaching and preening for me.
I built a fortress around my fears,
dispatched grim sorties against facticity.
I live without you, sealed by "virtue"
founded on deceit.
Inner music, though sweet, will never be
complete.
The last light reveals all insights
as effigies and mirrors, strung up in flight.
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Blood seeks the earth,
flesh concedes.
Memories of vauntery can't impede
the greater need.
Sacrifice completes the partial life.