Prove me a fool, then
I shall dine at your table.
But my mind has not
been as oppressed by
the heavy weight of
sanity's absence,
as you would have liked.
I can see through your
windows, there are no
silk curtains like you
desire and crave, a guise
to hide what really
goes on in the darkness
of your deeply worrying mind.
You think of me as a
wounded deer, who dared
to stare for too long,
helplessly strewn across the side
of your road, carrying vehicles
quickly along to better places.
That long instructing finger
of yours, points to billboards
who say that I can be someone,
live the lives of those I see
behind a glass shield, so much
more fragile than you think.
I am content atop my fort,
while my foundations may
be small, they are stronger
than ignorance and folly,
and I do not preach to ants
to reach heights only to fall
back down into a dust of your dirt.
I will never dine with you,
and I will never come knocking
at your door, as I am sure that
one day your idiot soldiers
will see behind the canvas of
mistrust.