All greatness lies
And lay next to enemies
Of minds too stubborn to see
Where the short end
Is the short self;
They think they have discovered
Everything to be, that is, could and would
But it’s labels plastered
On the minds of peerless insight
That are to slip to the prestige;
And fall to the footnotes of critics,
The clinging bastard of egoism,
Imagined might
To never want peace;
a lot of people live with anger
That sits inside them with no place to go
And split words, false projections
Wax on paper with no form
But turn the knife inward
To wind the garrulous clock;
Reflect the greatness lies to ourselves and others