Disillusions

Laying at the crossroads of life and death I strive
Prophets evangelizing my imminent demise
Chiseling the headstone as they prepare my grave
A gathering of vultures so vile and profane
Vultures are circling round me, scribes and pharisees gathering
Plotting, scheming, lying there in wait
For every inch I’m fighting, I won’t fade
Vermin are feeding off me, gorge on their putrid offerings
Spewing out their poison in my way
Panicking they scatter as I wake
My life is not yours to command
Carve my fate by my own hand
Through my trials, I grow strong
I fear not no man or God
«Let teachers and priests and philosophers brood over questions of reality and
illusion
I know this: If life is an illusion then I am no less an illusion,
and being thus, the illusion is real to me
I live, I burn with life. I love, I slay, I am content…»