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And from the abyss
of an un-owned, nothingness
rises up the majestic image--
supremely crafted,   from 
well-smithed words;

this something.. 
formed  out of nothing--

this counterfeit  substance
this ancient, hide 

this cowardly, self-formed answer
to the Universe's primal core question
this childish refusal to grow up..
to own up,
and face the music

This fooling of the whole world..
this glory  of the moment..

and then, one final  pirouette,
before your unavoidable death-scream
at that final  moment of truth..


*Ah truth, baby.. what a concept.*

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