Men Without Chests

What function can come
Once the organ is removed?
Lewis asked, Lewis implored
We have basked, we are bored

What’s worse, we feign recognition
Or miss it completely, blind ambition

But there! A festering cut!
Source of the hurt
A mortal wound, fetch me the scalpel
Let me dig and pry, bones and alien invaders-
The difference unknown to my eye
Though upon a molten ball I stumble
Pulsating pain
Rip, tear, triumphantly held in the air
Success! You ask for a solution
That matters not
I have removed the problem
I have destroyed the clout

We love to identify dissent
We roar at the very thought
Spit and claw at its back
Unearth our design
Trade blueprints for black

Actualization exchanged for accusation
How can we disagree
When we don’t know our own location?

Maybe that molten ball was truly the heart
Maybe it was hurting because
We have all been wrong from the start

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