I’m the two-headed boy, or so they shout
As these crowds of no one make their case known
To me alone. The craftsman of my doubt
For certain has overwhelmed, overthrown
My lost inherent dominance at last,
Not fast, but slow, in eloquent design.
Deceiving were His plots to see right past
My shields and take control of what was mine.
The years have passed since my throne He did claim.
He in vague thoughts so distant yet so near
Prevails in His ambiguous domain;
The craftsman has become the puppeteer.
Chance of escape from my confines is slim;
Of these two heads I am the phantom limb.

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