This was originally written a year ago.
The painted face, how real, how fake
Always tempting to say real, how much justice
In calling it more false than words.
It is but a painting
Aided by painted tongue
And painted praises
And painted company
And painted needs, belongings, emotions….
To free reality from the hyperreal map
To tear it asunder and liberate the face
From its imaginings, its comfortable, pretentious smile
I remove the painting from upon the wall
From its high place and call it false
Then I point to the window it covered and say "Ah-ha"
The window be falsely colored, show me the color of the real world
I will not be made the fool.
Not by my fellow men, not be play upon like a pipe
Not contorted into a soulless machine made only to work endlessly
And produce more work for tireless tired generations to come sadly into being.
I do not open said window;
I tear it from its foundations
Climb the wall to oh glassy window which had been placed so highly.
The walls have ears but no mouth unlike the false face.
They hear without listening. The painted face spoke without speaking.
I must liberate myself, not be claimed by the wall.
I must remove the painted face, but not let its sticky surface capture me
And turn me into another false idol.
I will liberate myself through the hole I created.
No longer will false exercises hold me so tightly.
If I am to participate with the wall or the painting forever from my leap outside,
It shall be on my terms.
So I say unto the hearing wall, "Adieu!"