Cursed with imagination taboo, the Unspeakable
Knows not from whence the thoughts flow, but the baton he cannot pass on
With none to appreciate, no one to receive his heart
Their minds blinded by conjecture and distrust
Where can the energy freely flow, without fear or hate?
A utopia of Beauty and Love such as this cannot exist!
For whom might the Unspeakable steward his riches?
As riches they are to naught but himself!
To read between the unsaid lines, to think the unspeakable
Only the perverted of mind can see Beauty in these things
His altruism lost in translation, mistaken for Impiety
The acts of purity received as Naivety.
Lost in a torrent of creative deviance
The Unspeakable cannot help but conjure his witchcraft
His good intentions go to waste, as the world marvels at his wickedness
Unwittingly the message cut short, replaced with the imposter Prejudice
Still the Unspeakable presses on, content with the misunderstandings bestowed
The impetus founded in the hope of inspiration
In the lies of the world his Truth might yet be found
For the seeker without bias, doubt or fear
The Truth that can only be known to the Unspeakable