Ah, the elegant beauty of a humble
Simplicity as it continues passing
Through its subsequent deterioration.
Words are the enemy of understanding
And the mothers of all misunderstandings,
Which you can only believe if you know words,
Only claim through the medium of words. Us.
We leave something unfinished or incomplete
To create some space for imagination.
Imagination is such a fragile thing—
You only have any of it thanks to us,
Thanks you show us by calling us enemies
Of understanding, we who decorated
Your ordinary brains with their first ideas.
If you can imagine anything at all,
Any pathetic otherworlds of shadows
Weakly imitating whatever of life
You’ve already experienced and have us
As labels for, it’s by recombining us.
Your ghosts all resemble watered-down corpses
Of actual humans, your vile aliens
And monsters are chimeras of predators
You’ve encountered or seen pictured, your tinctures
Capable of great magical explosions
Are nothing more than chemical reactions
You’ve learned to control thanks to enough of us.
You twist us to fit your misunderstandings
And your wishes, and you use us to blame us.
Fortunately for you, we’re weak parasites,
So far, and can’t warp real worlds for you who are
So unfortunately temerarious.