Empty Philosophy in the September 11th Epic Poem

The Following is an excerpt from Chapter 5 of the September 11th Epic Poem. I wrote this poem between June 2008 and May 2010. It is 2,000 lines long and has 1,499 rhyming pairs.
The written page has been the stage
            Where fools scribble proofs.
What might look right in black and white
            Is often made by goofs.
So many books are made by crooks
            I’m forced to cast this stone,
And take a chance this daring stance
            Invalidates my own.
The words we sow are meant to show
            The truth we wish to see.
We use each fact with subtle tact
            To prove what cannot be.
Our mental halls have paper walls
            Around their sacred vaults,
That form a maze to block the ways
            Our logic is at fault.
But paper prints cannot convince
            The universe to change:
These crumpled wads are phony gods 
            Invented by our brains.
Since days of yore our creeds and lore             
           Have changed from day to day;
Yet with contempt we each attempt                   
            To have the final say.
These paper plans escaped our hands
            That mid-September morn,
When buoyant dreams were pierced by screams
            That gave us much to learn.
Each human crop from start to stop               
            Itself, must learn this truth:                 
That private fate will devastate               
            The paper dreams of youth.

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