The Great Mirage

The royal crown is broken amidst midnight bloom
(Within the language of stars)
They deny our light to embrace their gloom
(Thirsting throats now throttle)
As they sip the spurious as fact
Toasting their own turmoil
While turning contra towards the pact

The chambers of the underground ripple
With the echoes of the weak, herded like cattle
(By the scenes in which they blindly seek,
These grainial oceans)
They glitter not of gold (for these arid flats)
Entomb fragmented bones and horrors of old

Fallacies unwinding the ambitions of forgotten dreams
(Association’s burden) culturally cracking at the seams
(These illusions flourish) like dead flowers in the wind
Let it be the pride of devils
(That we may find ourselves in)