The Core

There are winged thoughts in me,

And I want to set them free.

A spirit crushed does not die

But lives on in infinite forms.

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Focus just a little more.

Bend the will.

Strengthen the core.

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I do not fear monsters

So much as becoming one.

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Society is a labyrinth of mirrors

Designed to trap the soul.

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The Tower

of Social Convention

and Moral Tradition

is built with stones,

but it is not

and never will be

the mountain

or bedrock

from which it is culled,

but remains always

a teetering edifice

rife for destruction

at the first good stroke

of lightning.

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All it takes is a bright idea.

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Focus.

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Just, a little more.

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Bend the will.

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Strengthen the core.

More subtle jabs at, or perhaps from, the Arcanum: