Faceless formless ghosts. Not even an archetype. Just boogeymen standing silent. They are a reflection of rule Denying a reality simple and honest Down to the point of redefining love. Guiding naked and silent dreams Showing us what heroes and gods Pave the way for millennia. They nudge we children into the fold And some may question Why the reality presented seems like a shadow on the wall. Run dazed into what may, what will die Feeling the veracity in the gray background Lending a strange happiness to your soul. Patiently we sit back Only murmuring, “They did this They did that.” Even with no true self We come to blame They. But smile and look back At the way we react and Concoct their machinations. It is a play, A false reality, Where imagination is a source of power With no charge.