Tin Tiera

As near as I can tell, all efforts made
to rise in mind, will not get one a crown,
though clarity, augments and lifts one's grade
of being well. I loathe the robot clown

that masquerades as me. Persona runs
the show, most of the time. When I recall
my precious Spirit is Divine, it stuns
me that the world outside is such a brawl.

The robberies, shootouts and violence
that plague each day, are regular as rice.
A long way down the scale of dumb and dense,
these zombies never sought to know the price

of losing touch with truth. Cruise the slums,
to see that folks there, sadly, got things wrong .
Not zeros yet, winos, druggies and bums
have hope, though thin, to self redeem. The long,

mean road that leads to 'up and out', is hard
enough for gifted souls. Our Bogus One
is gray to radar and pretends to guard.
but blinds and baffles us and keeps undone

the work we'd do, to wake our soul that sleeps.
An Ego, fuels its pseudo self on power
it snakes from one's true self. It gives me creeps
that many lives end up forlorn and sour.

A deeper, higher, better, brighter state
awaits who can most rightly read the tea.
Sincere devotion applied to unsedate
the Noble One within, is master key

unlocking paradox and quandary;
Prayer and worship can't awaken souls
from coma's trance. No sandman, night fairy
or bogeyman, has magic that controls

whether, or not, we wise up and come to.
One's self alone, decides if it will be,
in charge of widening its world view,
or, just another slob, fated to see
a lessening of savor in his stew.