Either an object of spectacle,
Or an instrument of ridicule.
To be looked upon,
A thousand eyes simply looking.
-He who wears the crown sleeps not.
-He who wears the crown fears not,
-He who wears the crown fears much,
How could this be?
And what is that specific fear?
An arena, arrayed,
A soul here, there...plentifully-menacing.
Bound, by whom? The self? An ideal?
Still alive, breathing, experiencing.
He proclaims to the crowd,
"I have seen what makes you cheer,
I have seen what makes you jeer,
Neither sways me."
Greatness rests not in the applause
It rests on the motivation,
To seek a thing for its sake,
To claim it as one's own, immersion.
To escape greatness, is greatness
One attains freedom,
No more a spectacle,
A living, breathing hope.
A joy
A peace
A liberation
A death
Continuous dying
A vast expanse of things to explore
Not for one or the other.
However, it brings one and the other
To rebirth, to become, not to follow.
The true state of reality?
A subjectively-objective path,
A sure guide yes......
But permutations of various kinds
In the end, as a matter of quality,
Different permutation, within the same system
Leads to the same outcome. If one wishes it to be so,
In this case, it is a beginning.
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