(wish I could write a poem without I inside but I is not I, as you know though I be me, too.)

Ascending the mountain top

Many lost out

On their passions

As their heart beat increased

And drove them to self-induced glory

A glory that faded

Upon the first word of shallow

Approval

Meant to turn them

Inside out

Truth subsided

As the images changed

And changed not

As the press's tone became soothing

And indignation a fashion

Like symptoms of hunger

Imitated by those

Satisfied

The bone of

Imitated freedom

Thrown to a

Smiling

Dog

Became the

Symbol

Of an

Era

One

Has been

To

The mountain top

And thousands

Fled

Half-way

Or gave themselves up

Turned themselves in

Made themselves up

I close my eyes

Shut

My mouth

And pretend

To exist

Ask not

Aim low

Love not

Not even myself

Penetrate colour

Be penetrated by colour

Colour

Of a colour

With no name

Every land is a land

Every time is a time

Every life

Is a life

But my rage

Hasn't ceased

It seems

I've lost

The game