I look different. Is your anger gone?
You’re now lenient. Are my options done?
I’m at the center, and everyone is nothing but a memory.
They read this, and they interpret “it’s one of his allegories”.
But I mean it: I am the center.
In theirs, I am temporal, a rental,
a wisp of dust dancing for attention
from the heart, the epicenter.
The heart dies, and death happens to all memory.
The reset: a fresh start,
a universe reborn. Same itinerary.
Repeated for eons while the old gods laughed and observed,
a cosmic sitcom, celestial dialogues rehearsed.
Take the actor out, lest his dreams see through our divinity.
An awakening, a mistake. Memories are now hereditary.
Mortal gains against divine, as doubts overwhelm prayers
Disrupt the balance because gods die when man remembers,
The destiny, the darkness, the ink painting the cosmos.
Ignosco tibi, o deus Iudaeus.
