Life day after day,
sounds like a game.
One reason, concerning this poem
is the fact of Possession.
Which possesses a figure of inception,
or obsession..

This is mine,
and those are yours
Who cares?

"I do! I own Atlantis!"
That's quite lovely, my dear,
but deep down you fear,
to be powerless, as before,
and so you claim,
and so you take
and so you wane,
as part of fate.

"But I own it!"
Says who!?
Did god himself
with red carpets drawn,
and paparazzi all around
stride from a chariot-limo
to head into your halls
just to discuss
your ownerships?
Or perhaps you think,
that you might of built it,
when,
in reality,
the tools and elements you've wielded,
did the work.

Does the blacksmith forge,
or does the furnace,
does a man ****?
Or does the bullet he fires?

"Its mine!"
Now you prove my point,
possession is an obsession,
All that is, belongs to all
and all that is not, belongs to me.

"No fair! How come you get to own something?"

Because it is in the realm of possession.
Such as the realm of possibility,
where as a man might grow 9 arms
and fly like spider man
with gum instead of webs,

All that exists, remains to the existing,
And all that does not exist,
belongs to the non-existent,
yet the non-existent
must be brought into existence?

and so you claim
and so you take
and so you fuel
our rage and hate..
Possession.