Foolish young thing,
you act as if you knew Truth
and reality and being.
You smile at your elders
with contempt in your playful eyes,
mocking them for all their alleged wisdom.
You claim the collective unconscious
as the basis to your enlightenment,
having learned Truth from yourself
and from those who also learned Truth from themselves.
Who are you to claim such enlightenment,
now at a time
when all things once held precious rot into pieces?
Who are you to gather this wisdom of men about you,
now at a time
when only the metaphysical has any weight to it?
Who are you? I ask.
And in your infinite brilliance,
you tell me,
I am you.