Porcupines

Away from the crowd, where stupidity and vanity reign,
A conveyor belt of flesh and lecherous urges.
The molting truth – a cheap gilding,
A target for malice and base mockery.

The herd is a marketplace: here they gut the soul
For copper coins of vulgarity and deceit.
The voice of truth is trampled by the indifferent,
Swallowing the filth of petty speech.

Deaf greed, inexorable passion,
Lead a dance of suffering, decay, and evil.
An open abyss, an unhealed wound,
That has devoured light and consciousness.

But in the silence, where the soul finds its boundaries,
A treasury of meanings shall richly bloom.
Only genius erects unassailable towers,
While the crowd is rotten, gray, and hollow.

We are porcupines. The longing for affection
Wounds the flesh and spirit against the needles of our neighbors.
It is time to shatter all false masks,
To stop this vicious, sickly movement.

The higher the intellect – the stronger the walls,
To keep out the uninvited guests.
Within the borders of your own, secret country
You are both god and executioner over the chaos of deaths.

My choice is a world where will reigns supreme,
Where thought is a blade, and the covenant is exile.
Solitude is not a brand, not a punishment,
But a mode of survival, a privilege, and a destiny.

Let the fool strike the clamorous bells,
I drink the bitter draft from the chalice of the deep.
For only he who knows all the laws
Will lie, laughing, into the jaws of the coffin.