The One-Eyed Man is King

We keep moving forward
Through the corridors of time and space
Fearing the harsh textures of this wake
This endless bitter dream with sweet adornments
This state of being
Breathing
Feeding
Fucking
Procreating
Defecating
Dessicating
Before the mastery hidden in decay
To be, here, is to assume defensive stances always
Oblivious to the dances of the light and the spaces, dark, they leave in their absence
How strange it is to know that there are no wounds
No maladies
No mirth
No suffering
In the light of the sun that we form
Together
Death becomes myth
In the hands of the man who attends his own funeral
How do we clear away the lines
That form the noose of falsehood
Round the neck of every man
Conceived in blindness?