The Fifth Level.

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.