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He would not violate his own self,
His weapons: created-lack-of-dependence and the threat to walk away,
And he had his multitudes of caring admirers,
None dare be their true-self with him, ah! fear those weapons coming into play,
Loved him so much that they talked what he wanted to hear,
His make-believe world of ideal expanding every passing day,
Noble causes professed, brilliant arguments of reason,
Reason for admirers; with him, mere stripped skeletons in sway.
In not violating himself, he violated all others,
Rarely spared a second thought, inviolable principles obey,
Peaks of unscalable success, fast scaled by him,
Unviolated martyr he was, soaring display.
I pitied his world, his "principled" success,
He was another mere god in human portray;
Cry with the suffering humans my friend, violate yourself for these fallible humans and they will offer their all for you...
Their unselfish true love, you've never undersood it's true worth...
Pity your inviolable heights, mere stacks of rising inflamable hay.