Blueprint

So many ways to say it... tossing off without a thought, "a man's his own worst enemy" all unquestioning and any one of us a victim of perception, laughing at out careless ghosts a little while and sponging tears at night. The patriarch is back to haunt, and never knew his power to turn away. Never, ever knew. The victim, hanging to a precipice with twisted hands, twisted body slipping from a lifetime legacy of twisted worth. Contract in hand...the self is built, foundation made of pain and walls of insecurity take form, designed from plans obscured by heavy smudges... product of the soiled fingers of neglect. Now, the rooftop! There the view of hopelessness creates its crowning touch,. for here is love outdistancing the child's pursuit. The sirens call, (the child will play) and life is ruled by consequence. Fabricated tyranny? Oh, yes. The experts pass a finished product on. Now chimeras and dragons deal the cards. The feckless captain of a sinking ship looks back at his mirage, and shrugs. His refuge now, escape or death, and better men will laugh. ~ Someone recently spoke of "the fabricated tyranny of that which never existed." The implication was that many of us are led by our fears, and give in to them. I wanted to ask the question, "Why?" and decided to search for the answer within my own experience. The most expedient way for me to do that, was through poetry. This was the result.