What calls for dire consequence,
the garbled insignificance of plight,
when steps of swollen ego broods,
flippant dismissal a shrewd device,
of deluded beliefs from self-egregious sight,
lost to unaccountability,
for fear of light.
Steps to never plains,
to worlds that never were, or could be,
basking in sour dreams of rancid fancy,
whims that bled so profusely,
the condemnation of truth manifest,
so blatantly against what’s real.
Airs of supreme confidence
shadow all that’s lost,
while reality walks a parallel path,
and often within a box,
so limited the vessel, so vastly undernourished,
for ego burns every bridge,
and love comes at a cost.
So consequence burns flesh and breaks bones,
flushes out the cancers,
yet will holds on to the dark retorts,
the solemn spouts of answers
that contradict the affliction and sterilise the heart,
for love tears down all the walls,
that ego builds, resounds.
Until the sway of wills endeavour
is quenched by truth and wisdom,
those nasty infected circumstances
will follow, undirected,
and clinging to the delusion of
control and all its perks, will just dig a deeper whole,
for a heart to remain inert.
Give me aching, give me pain in every manner,
rather than stupidity in consequence,
of all that ego matters,
a sound predictive perspective,
and not a shallow misdirection,
not wallow in a soul’s dark shadow
with no reality shown, is all I ask in correction.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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