The sacred truths of time endure despite
'improvement' from religion's blur machine.
The light they bring, enables one to sight
above the cess of frivoled thought, and wean
emotions from the need to fabricate
a sense of self that's deaf to voiced reproach.
One's failures are the fuels used to deflate
the ego self, who claims to be the coach
when actually, he plots at every turn
to undermine and send you back to sleep.
Inmost truth is the bliss for which we yearn,
but work to wake is ours. The good we reap
depends upon unmasking, by our hand,
what we pretend that we don't understand.