Narcissus

We are all all the dimensions in and of ourselves
Perceptions removed by degrees and parallel;
Despite what we say we'll never feel what others feel
Or dream those dreams that, to them, seem real
We draw on our past experiences as we're building ships
To visit others on their isolated islets
But on this tract of land that they alone call home
We can visit but it will never be our own

As we whisper lies and hollow nothings
All things strive – I'm here striving for something

We're all like ethnocentric anthropologists
The tortured, outmoded, Freudian psychologist,
How else but through introspection can we view the world
We impose ourselves on others so what do we really know?
Those of us who are drawn to similar things for similar reasons
Are only on the same tide in the same season
But we have our own rides and god forbid if they collide
We can but barely steer ourselves if we're trying not to die

And I try to avoid whispered lies and hollow nothings
We all strive – I'm striving to be something

More than the pretenders who visit foreign shores
Good intentions or not, you can't foster understanding with force
But we all want to see these invaders every so often
It's them or feel like we've finally been forgotten
So we try to make these structures, made in our own image
Less hostile to others and they'll do the same
Asking ourselves is it better to lie, to ourselves and to other people
Or is the truth alone enough to define what is real.

The whispered lies and hollow nothings
At least, I guess, at least they're something.