Manic Propaganda

The Brown Bag Special

Images unseen

tempt my covetous mind,

frail cracked lines thwart

the delicate facade of marionettes,

the thin veil shadowing

what’s beyond,

I try to see inside,

reading between the

enigmatic lines

of life,

seeing past my own gaunt face

and into the eyes of those

souls surrounding me,

those beleaguered spirits who

try to mold me into sarcastic

replicas of themselves,

Fool that I may be,

flawed by perceptions of

illusions painted on a canvas

never meant for me,

though comprehension eludes

the weary pondering of

ghostly minds,

I still crave discernment

Threads scatter,

frayed truths once touched

tend to hold crumbled

dust caught in winds,

yet it lingers as a still

faint residue

And my mind scatters,

torn between the blank

sheets of canvas –

tabula rasa –

and those brimming,

eradicated minds which

entice us to such gratuitous


© Christopher Rupley and TheCrackedCrone 2015

(This is a…

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