The Prismatic Self

The sparring mind requires a venue fit for wide ambition’s pointed blade—the craze of poignant poetry’s unbridled wit.— Masked)by the wily writer’s wire-meshed gaze, the soul unleashes on the stage of writ a flurry of pen strokes, a wanton blaze of mangled meanings, aiming now to split— —to split the atmosphere in half…for praise! Ah—perhaps, in this contest of our wills, I do not joust against “you”,—just with “I“; so the looming question mark lurks near: “Why?” Simply for the thrills! merely for the frills? Thus, muses Nietzsche, the great unveiler, “Bist du echt? oder nur ein Schauspieler?…”