The Polymath - This Or The Apocalypse

In conduits we drift apart

There is vastness within and all around us

Though we may deny ourselves the thought

That this was something real

I can finally say that I’m not dead yet

There are no chains as tight as the search for something real

How they burn the skin of the vehement

Both last known bodies of matter, drifting into themselves

We’re caught in the in the teeth of our own temper

We are what we consume

You create what you are

Appeal, on which the ground you stand

Appeal, in the throes of death

Appeal, in a delirium of sleep

Appeal, for our strength is gone

Spoken by a man unbound

Taught beneath the hands in shackles

It has invited a scourge

What makes you think you give of anything at all?

The killer hides his face

The stoic waits his turn

We all had our chance

Apparitions show themselves deep within ruminative voice

It is man himself who speaks at length of wars that go unnoticed

And it is truly all you have

No blueprints, no warning