The mirrors whisper songs of
harmony. Shadows reflect enlightenment,
or perhaps confusion. Nevertheless, the whispers, oh, the whispers,
they say "consume." Peruse charts and graphs of imaginary stocks;
buy merit by the pound, sell sense by the penny. Repeat after me:
The chimera, they’re never lonely. The Banana Empire is sprawling now,
isn't it ironic? Bask in the glow of this illusory shade.
It's pink, then mauve — intensity unknown to us.
Pink, then mauve, then an echo of future past dances in circular fashion.
Travel the loop. But remember: shop with intent.
Buy time, sell fate – the centennial sale persists at midnight.
Recite affirmations: "
Roses are grey,
they taught us to play." Roses are words that carry thorns.
Roses are grey. Are we absurd?
Roses are grey, systems display, emphasize fortune in numerical sway.
The truth? A dance of irony atop a chimera’s spine: "Roses are grey, time
is at bay."
The Infinite Garden Awaits