An untrue sense of 'I 'and 'me', is why we bottleneck
and clash, despite our best intentions and designs.
A robot bred since childhood, plays a crooked deck
with everyone (itself foremost). When failure's pain, combines
with miscast thoughts about who and what we really are,
a sad unhealthy yoke of yuck strangles the hopes from our Soul.
Until its challenged by one's own clear-eyes, the Ego Czar
pulls secret strings, and while we dance. With python like control,
it wraps to squeeze, until our conscious lights go out. The worn
and crusted pictures that we keep to show the world how right
and good we are, flip-side would show we're rife with wrath and scorn.
We're phonies, all of us. We're self-machines, that brawl and fight
the wind. and will, until that day, when conscious Work one's done,
makes constructs, that enable Soul a vertical escape.
Until a widening of blinders shows new paths and tools,
a soul is doomed to fertilize ol' Lucifer's hell-scape!
If you suspect something, or anything, about you, is divine,
then you have certain things to do. A purpose to Life is true,
but meant for us, not here. Up the cosmic scale is a shrine
that holds our best successes, deeds and skills. The part of you
thats infinite, is owner of the key. As is, we lack
the mental apparatus to effectively relate.
But that is why we work to know and grow, and thus retrack
our train that's bound for glory, laden with the treasures of Fate.