A Boot for the Poser
That spark of mind you call 'yourself', is drab, dim and droll.
A bushel of bullshit all but smothers out the tiny flame
endowed at birth to burn the weeds that seek to choke the Soul.
Niblets of Truth brighten its fire which widens one's aim.
To unlearn the global falsities that took their shape
when early days brought us monster dogs and bogeymen,
and every kind of rude kerfluffle that no kid can escape
we need to consciously create our rules for Life again.
That one that we don't like, is first beheld on our own stage,
a member of our cast. We try and chuck him out, then go
our merry way. When he stays immune, this makes anxiety and rage.
We strut as if our pedigree was quite unfit for blame, and so
project our hated inner bad guys out on other folks,
to stay exempt from being fingered owner of the flaw.
The Evil begins within us, and we perpetuate this hoax
via denial and blame. Besmirching words, stick in the craw,
and vengeance is mine saith Persona. Nothing can violate
the hallowed picture of our perfect self. Stable Geniuses
are always right, because their endless lies excuse, inflate
and misdirect, to reach each separate crowd. Long penises
they boast about, and flaunt their store-bought lives, and chic toys.
Their love of stuff out-clouts their love of living things,
and their dreams do not speak to them of Soul-eclipsing joys
and gratitude to breathe the air. They also never dream of wings.