The true path to the inner Promsed Land,
of sweeter joys and hyper skills and sight,
starts with a thorough changing of command
and real devotion to a brighter light.
Persona is the mask men hide behind
when interfacing with the world about.
It tangles up the quest to cleanse the mind
of traps and stumble stones. To strut and spout,
squabble, connive and scheme, exactly kicks
the living lights from any hope to know
the self as pure and strong and free. To fix
this sorry snarled state, we must forego
the phoney face that's posed, and call its bluff.
But this is never smooth. The False One clings
to inner props. Pursuing it is tough,
more often taking years to clip its wings.