The venerable one's
Doctrine was crowned upon us
Humanity's noontide gain
But the king was a phantasm

The crown but a porous withered wreath
Upon a tattered grimace
Our myopic gaze
Of a diaphanous tenet

Occluded all thought of solidity
Encircled by the frail cannon
Beset by the strength of support
The confines of validity
Are entrenched in rough soil

Traces of the forms
Dance on the wall
Unrelenting iron
Sleek cold steel
Clings to our wrists

As a vulnerable child
(To the stoic guardian)
The dead weight of this permeable helmet
Anchors us to the motionless rocks of chaos

Reflections of fidelity
Distillations of veracity
Specters of substantially
(Cavort upon the wall)

Must this burden
Be borne unto our backs
As the world
On Atlas' shoulders?

If we were to lose
Our grip on the globe
Could we laugh
As we witnessed it
Crash into the stars?

The explosion will shower us
In the elements of experience
Encumber us with the weight of reality
Yet free us by serving as the lustrous key
To our rusted manacles

Traces of the forms
Dance on the wall
In time with flames
That provide false warmth