Unspoken ideas are art galleries in ruin, frescoes on the walls of our weary minds
Unspoken ideas are art galleries in ruin, frescoes on the walls of our weary minds,
From them were born the wars that tore humanity apart through infinite epochs,
Unspoken words melt into the air like musical notes you will never hear,
Yet they are there, scattered in your soul like dancing ghosts.
I turn back time to destroy peace, for peace is a beautifully wrapped lie,
A toxic illusion that keeps us in chains, a story long outdated,
I let fear drain from me and raise my fist to the sky with blind confidence,
As the flames I ignited begin to consume the universe.
The desire for destruction is the mute child of voices ignored for too long,
But is any of this real, or is it all just a season
In which we bathe, blinded by lies served daily on a platter?
Poisons masked as food, brainwashing in schools, a perpetual venom.
Open your eyes and look around at the isolated bubbles of social media that swallow us,
We are just puppets in an absurd theater, an infinite spectacle,
Reality has dissolved into collective hallucinations and programmed illusions,
But I... I am different, I am the puppeteer pulling the calculated strings.
Control flows through my veins like a spring of primordial power,
While the rest of the world dances to the rhythm of an artificial symphony,
For I am the director of this spectacle, the shadowy master who laughs,
Watching society unravel under the weight of lies that kill it.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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