We’ve Lost Touch With the Untouchable

(The first version of this had a couple typos - this is the real one!)

We’ve lost touch

with the untouchable

and clothed ourselves

with the fakest suit

of impenetrable armour;

a simple sharp retort is enough

to pass through a veil

up on stage, calling itself steel

stoked in the hottest fires

forged with the hardest hammers

as the tiniest spark sets their

world ablaze.

We’ve lost touch

with the untouchable.

The reaper sighs,

scythe at his side;

he can’t keep up with the souls opting in before their time arrives.

They walk as shells about the earth for decades after,

they wonder why they feel empty, hollow, hungry, thirsty

as they dip their ladle into poisonous potions of deceit and greed

always wanting while ignoring their needs.

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We’ve lost touch

with the untouchable.

The not-to-be-trifled-with.

The force among forces.

We fancy ourselves to be

higher-functioning

morally advanced

and technologically savvy.

I suppose that’s why

we dehumanize one another

for not seeing what we see

as the truest form of true,

the realest reality.

I suppose that’s why

we feel depressed

without dopamine on tap,

the tap of a thumb,

refusing to feel

what we really feel,

succumbing to feeling numb.

I suppose that’s why

we seek to sidestep

the depth of consciousness

by weaving webs of 0’s and 1’s

to be mind’s marionette.

We’re not nearly as smart

as we fancy ourselves to be;

we only know just enough to be dangerous.

I’ll settle on us having arrived

at true admirable intellect

when we can take on the perspective

of a bird over a lizard,

then a lizard over a bird

before jumping the shark

to state just one is “The Word”.

We must grasp the forbidden fruit

to understand the darkness

it contains,

sit with death

now and then

to see all that remains

remains to be seen

and we know nothing

of nothing,

nor what’s in between.

We must live as souls

in search of their shells;

the inverse has proved

to be time wasted in hell.

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