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

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