Chapters. No.2

Ingratiated republic of smiles and puissance
Contained within the skin folds of your face;
A glass that shatters into a million shards
Of pained conceit...or otherwise
A latent mistrust forces shadows
To operate by strings
The machinations of the mind.
Seeing in every action not the navigation
Of truths compass
But the hand of greed and self enterprise
Prising the stone from its setting.
Elsewise burgeoning motes of paranoia
Quash comfort from the seat
Laying in its place a wreath of scorpion stings;
The hands of fate reaching from a cauldron
Of greed, twisted from the dead
and buried motivation of love.