Now what we sow can only grow, when tended by a pair
of skillful caring hands. This equates to earnest, more aware,
and vigilance, being operative. Imagination's captain's chair
hatches out bizzaro stuff, where Truth and facts are rare.
It's wholly up to us, to put the pinch upon the scruff
of every neck, who's making noises meant to call the guard.
Make no mistake, this prison holds us all, and soon enough
a reckoning will come. Escape is vertical and hard,
but cups that runneth over, don't get old. The choice to stay
and be reborn in pointless slow-roast Hell, should never be taken,
but happens by default, for those whose lives are thrown away
in service to one's lower mind. The effort to awaken
cannot be waived, and serves to stablize the quest for Conscious Light.
A goal that's partly reached, and then forsworn, is still a fail.
This tactic must be killed before you launch, so that your plight
to come, hasn't ripchord or safe word. Die in the stirrups, no bail!
Should you succeed, your's is ringside in paradise, in line
with other worthies bound for better days. Backsliders of all kinds
depict those mouths that made big claims, but didn't have the Will to sign
the needed force, for more than but a couple days. Their minds
were fattened on flatter and lies, so they clench in the clutch.
Delusions of virtue and value, ignores the fact one's darker part
is petty and mean, (and that's assuming you'll admit that much).
One cannot fix a problem that he's a part of, nor chart
a path to solve what he percieves as wrong. Despite our grand
opinion of ourselves, the galaxy, and all it binds,
defines that we are runts, and have no right to make demands.
In fact, we act aloof, with vain, inane chimpanzee minds.