behold the stage has been set for play
and to rise us all but to end each daya reckoning of unlikely immortals
a meeting on unconscious rebuttals
we are the players this stage set
the actors and actresses on this lucid mat
whose plot as yet be unveiled
another layer of which have been peeled
so slowly, and ever so slowly enough
time moves us, in the smooth and in the rough.
fictitious characters of whom we are
a mere illusion we seek by far
and in transition a change of season
the unsaid recess of a paused intrusion.
we move like puppets amongst ourselves
and we end our role like a book on the shelves.
have you ever wondered by the light of day
that the reasons we have made unwillingly play?
our minds consumed by treacherous virtuality
that drives the flesh into morbid insanity.
wake up now. this is not real.
wake up now. it is time to feel.
until we have met in flesh and blood,
everyone of us are fictitious characters made of mud.
- seth el shaqir the modern virtuoso of obligatory ideals
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