In innocence, we shine our toys and tools
believing play and work to be the way
we manage not to waste our fate like fools,
and hope our lives don't end with Hell to pay.
It's sad to say no book of rules conveys
a 'paint by numbers' way to earn the nod
from superhuman Lords. One's pleas and praise
though comforting, won't reach the ears of God.
The rude events entwined with life we take
as gruesome, yet expected daily fare.
The few who understand, 'all must awake
above the rooted sense of standard prayer,'
also work to rid their lives of cess.
New clarities convince them that they must
treat life as if a karmic game of chess
were played, without a fleck of fairy dust.
With willing eyes fixed distantly beyond
all loss and gain, a new regime and goal
tears down old temple walls. No magic wand
bestows transcendent wings upon the soul.
Your hand alone begins that sacred quest
to liberate the angel in your breast.
No other force can break through ego's shell
to wake our real self from the trickster's spell.