I speak in cerebral tongues...
Our god is consciousness.
Our flesh was made of fungus,
sipped from our mothers breasts.
These demonic play things, we tend to manifest.
Walking dead among the living,
spirits we work with protecting our being.
Simple as it was then,
imagination in these days so...rare.
Imitation art surrounds our nations,
governed by defects blinded by stagnation.
Once we were human.
Man, separated by machines.
Woman, separated by screens...cursed.
Divided equally the knowledge passed on to children.
-L.K. Cruz P. -2016