Secondary Imaginings

Secondary imaginings lead to no-where,
A greater purpose of forgetfulness,
Whilst a fervent search for sanity,
Reaches its anti-dramatic climax,
And scrabbles madly against the stones,
At where a great man once said,
"That nothing is everything and no more",
And sat down upon his dying wishes,
To serve upon a finding gem,
That tumbles out of stricken orbit,
And flings its philosophy to a modern era,
Which in turn flicks it over the abyss,
And watches it tumble into the dark,
Before going back to the strict lay downs,
That provides its mental hypothesis,
To a drunken and sown nerve,
That twitches to a silent beat,
And feeds mis-information,
Back to the allies of Mansers Shaw,
Who are writing down the histories,
Of a dying peaceful time,
Each pen mark a scratch on air,
Air which no man can alone breathe,
But many will survive in some form,
Filling away the little chinks,
In the twisted chain of human thought,
Every link a small novel,
Of each mans diagonal life,
Page after page that turns upon itself,
In a direct line to the unanswered questions,
That fuel our speculative religions,
Into a frenzy of our academy,
Who will then lead us not to the dogs,
But in the sights of a thousand men,
Who own the right to kill,
But hold dear the right to be killed,
All assets to their own,
And all trapped in secondary imagining