The longest journey is the journey inward,
As scalpels excise our high faces,
Plastic barriers form, rip tides against
Those humbler hearts
Who prefer to seek you
On purity alone.
The spirits of men cannot be to blame,
For they have been dashed,
And ripped, d*****.
A product of the environment,
The result of empty mindedness, they would say not.
The roads of this world,
Are paved in Plexiglas Beauty,
She, the undeniable-to-most High Goddess,
Lives in those for half a century,
Before drawing wrinkles, and sags,
When the dual path forms.
Those fools,
Who yelp to the Almighty at the encroachment
Of their demise,
And rebuke His glory when midnight is hours away.
Those wanderers,
Blown off course time and again,
By swaying earthly gusts,
Those Pilates,
Whose eyes are my vestibules
To the flames of their being.