Plaster Saints and Whited Sepulchers

Ah,

I see where I am, now
I perceive what I am in, now

Two Way Street, in Two Face Town.

I have traveled here, for a time
too long. I believed, in signs on my side of the street.

Too blind to see and perceive,
that the goods inside the stores
that fester behind the camouflaged advertisements and shout
“Free! Ideologies, convictions, truths – you’ll see!”
were unfinished, unfounded, precarious, but firmly believed.
They shout with a stink, “who needs perspective, truth, dialogue?
Ha! Indeed. I have all that. I don’t need anymore, see?”

At this point on Two Way Street, I see in the road
A bottleneck. No divider between
drivers, thoughts, and their fists prepared to be freed.
A determined collision between unstoppable
forces, that both claim to be sovereign,
that both live to rule infallibly.

One way words wielded in a joust,
I see,
on Two Way Street, the lie is impartiality
fires roar in minds
set free, from what? The very things they preach.

I shall journey on,
seeking True Way Street
in Nonpareil Town,
where impossibilities are seeded and blanket the ground,
giving rise to the garden of revelation and compromise.
Because in this garden, death and opinion find their beautiful demise.