Grips are for Getting
There are no gods, nor are there magic rings.
That doesn't mean that Life is sham and bust.
Ceasing certain vices, and learning things
about awakening, kicks butt on fairy dust.
Severely honor Grace, believing that,
to be the root from which the flowering tree
of all that we can be, grows forth. Our gnat
brains, from first start, drag baggage and debris.
They need a teacher's touch, a workman's arm,
and striving mind, to build a conscious Will.
At present, and until we buy the farm,
we must devote all patience, strength and skill
to endlessly unsnarl and repair
the never easy, ever changing snags
which stall our drive to learn to walk on air.
The hooligans and drunk skunk scallywags
that prowl our daytime Dark, must be ID'd,
then culled. Big mistake to think you are alone
within your head. Your lobbyists stampede
to steer your thoughts and keep you in the 'zone'.
The battleplan to liberate the true
and royal road to zenith states of soul,
must translate into action. Or else, sweet you,
will end this life, a sad foul tempered troll.
With dignity, invincible and pure,
The spirit of a man is naked grace.
Though bullied and betrayed, its gentle face
endures internment in men's worst manure.