by Louis Bertrand Shalako
c2010
All Rights Reserved
On the fifth level of the game
There is much smoke
And many mirrors
Sounds and footsteps,
Muffled voices from around corners
It is all an illusion
There is nothing here
But mind — many minds, all one mind
It is a babble of mind-stuff
They are all talking at once
Their hearts are all invisible, closely guarded things.
Facts and figures, toes and fingers
Scurrying to and fro.
Such strength, such power, such mean insensitivity
Where did your consciences go?
No one listens, and no one looks.
They pretend not to care
There is much danger here;
And perhaps...
A little fun to be had.
We can learn much here.
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