You built a throne so you could command
wizards and witches to help quench your thirst.
You asked poets and blacksmiths
and widows with husbands fallen by sword.
Blind men and girls jaded by love,
old men that had died a few times in a row
that led you to climb to the temple
with a mirror hidden behind a gold door.
It showed you that you already know
how to do it yourself and then asked
for the better half of your soul.
So you circled the cage
and threw words around
’til you found the best label of all:
You just aren’t me!, you said,
with all the might of a self-proclaimed Lord.
And much to your surprise,
it both felt good and it hurt.
Then you heard my steps echoing
on the marble floor as I left you alone.
I am not you, I echoed your words –
the label prophesied that I would go
and leave you in the cage that trapped your soul
to forever look for the door.
Behold the power of the best label of all.
Photo: Gerome Viavant, CCC – Black Rock Desert, the US.