Elbow Room ...

Elbow Room ...

If one took all the ecstasy a thousand orgies score,
he'd only have a fraction of the joy, compared to when
it's clear to him, he truly is Divine. What lays in store
for those who work to drain, then fertilize the Ego's fen,

is evidence that ends debate of what comes when you pass
from here. You'll never doubt about the trillion amp estate,
awaiting us, and thrill to know there's time to climb from the morass
Persona's got us bogged down in. This knowledge, keys the gate

between your, 'Poor Little ME', and that great one, whose features match
your highest sense of best. Deathless Essence sparks at your core,
which sadly, sense based thought can't see. Vague tendrils might attach
to self-detoxified respectful souls. Should one explore

the facts as to the true terrain of how he really is, he'll see
a sight that warrants shock, dismay and shame. Most surely not
the blameless king or queen, that one expounds oneself to be,
but a practiced faker hatching out untruthful bileous rot.

Asleep to the perspective, that shows him independent from
his own identity, he can't correct his faulty math.
A 'Just the facts ma'am', sort of scan, schematic like, must come
through Mind, before one changes where he looks to find the promised path

that leads to proper Self-Control. A host of inner players
must be busted, judged and branded, and then kicked off the porch.
All traces of Persona's handiwork from all layers
of awareness, must be rounded up, and treated to the torch.

Self pity and false pride rank among the very worst, while rage
and fear and guilt bedevil all who try to change their state.
Secret appetites and sloth-like indolence, are mates
upon a chain that tethers vanity, and greed and hate.

All deserve a special place in Hell to reinvigorate
a fundamental sense of up and down. (oh, that sounds fun!)
When these giant asshole demons mostly dissipate,
a wholly new horizon manifests, with different suns.