Fear the feather lite flush of self emulation The dry well, no new tale to tell soul sell by self imitation and copy It will not be you despite it being you trying to be you which is why it is not simply you Alrighty then So who? It is the you who thinks you are That hero of the story Center of the universe Sympathetic character who is never culpable And whose wrong doings understandable It is what you think you are not what you are The chasm between these are vast and rarely bridgeable This homunculus facade is oddly recognizable Falls flat fake and cheaply shaped Like a suit not made for the frame on which its draped You cannot fake your face You will hesitate where inappropriate And not notice it Your rhythm will falter and flail Flutter and stutter subtle and unstable If you try you will fail No new tale to tell, then tell no tale “Realize you are very small and life goes on within you and without you” said george harrison Always be authentic in all things accomplished Or be eroded by imitation Washed away Gently with feather lite emulation
