DEMAGOGUE

This is not a sentence, it's a lie. Allow me the satisfaction of holding your attention for a moment.  If I may be so bold:  show me your eyes.  If you're like most, they're glazing over by the time you've read this line. I'll classify myself for you, it's what I do. I'm not a fucking poet, I'm the Metatron, the Voice of Truth. So take your time, and read this.  I'm taking mine to write. And I'm turning it into a lyric of infinite being, expressed in a limited medium.  This is a story I've never told anyone.  This is the glorious moment that rises like fireworks over the streets of Jerusalem, to highlight the bodies below. This is the only presence I know of.  My own.  I believe in you, though.  I am weak, but these words are the sweat of my soul, from the labor to stay in your favor.  When you read them, I swear I can feel it.  I savor the feeling, I need it.  Your eyes are like beams of healing awareness, moving in unison over the meter and rhythm I've crafted.  I await your reaction. Remember, this universe is alchemy.  You plus me: reality. We mean the world to me.