waking is a curse
it strips away the wizard’s curtain
and opens your eye
this dream, this dream, to dance in the steps of conformity,
drink away the blissful waters of Lethe
there are no Edens on the quester’s path,
no bowls of milk for the cats who see through kings
These are the scars of questions.
These injured, flying wings
soaring a heavenless sky that thins and thins out of atmosphere,
ruined by liberty and Icarus’ sun, and dead planets in eternal obedience to Kepler,
and condemned, for knowing thyself, and knowing too much.
Eat this, she said, handing Adam the fruit.
what is it, he asked.
the red pill, she said. Truth. Freedom. Knowledge.
Everything that matters.