We’ve Lost Touch With the Untouchable
We’ve lost touch
with the untouchable
and clothed ourselves
with the fakest suit
of impenetrable armour;
a simple sharp retort is enough
to pass through a veil
up on stage, calling itself steel
stoked in the hottest
as the tiniest spark sets their
world ablaze.
We’ve lost touch
with the untouchable.
The reaper sighs,
scythe at his side;
he can’t keep up
with the souls opting infires
forged with the hardest hammers
before their time arrives.
They walk as shells
about the earth
for decades after,
they wonder why
they feel empty, hollow,
hungry, thirsty
as they dip their ladle
into poisonous potions
of deceit and greed
always wanting
while ignoring their needs.
We’ve lost touch
with the untouchable.
The not-to-be-trifled-with.
The force among forces.
We fancy ourselves to be
higher-functioning
morally advanced
and technologically savvy.
I suppose that’s why
we dehumanize one another
for not seeing what we see
as the truest form of true,
the realest reality.
I suppose that’s why
we feel depressed
without dopamine on tap,
the tap of a thumb,
refusing to feel
what we really feel,
succumbing to feeling numb.
I suppose that’s why
we seek to sidestep
the depth of consciousness
by weaving webs of 0’s and 1’s
to be mind’s marionette.
We’re not nearly as smart
as we fancy ourselves to be;
we only know just enough to be dangerous.
I’ll settle on us having arrived
at true admirable intellect
when we can take on the perspective
of a bird over a lizard,
then a lizard over a bird
before jumping the shark
to state just one is “The Word”.
We must grasp the forbidden fruit
to understand the darkness
it contains,
sit with death
now and then
to see all that remains
remains to be seen
and we know nothing
of nothing,
nor what’s in between.
We must live as souls
in search of their shells;
the inverse has proved
to be time wasted
in hell.