The Ego's curse is that:
It hears but won't listen,
It can touch but won't feel,
Yet it lings without longing for double-slit appeal,
Genius flows,
With rotation & sway,
Stepping on the post-modern magic carpet,
With 50 stains of grey,
But have we escaped the ironic basement?
Only to be lost in translation?
Surely this cage we're all fighting,
Is the global currency of nations?
Some state the Theory of Convergence,
Is where the world becomes the same,
But life's melodies will carry us to the future,
A new song awaits to be played.