You'll never Guess Who
The totality of 'me' has no name. The word 'Chris' draws my heed,
but can't include tornado zones where sound and fury like winds
inflate my sails. The me I think myself to be, is warden to a seed
whose sprout becomes a Soul. But as I am, a rude, thin-skinned
big mouthed know nothing, my best move is to clam up and clean
the weeds from my estate. The seed I'm here to serve, needs soil
without vermin, pure waters from elevations pristine,
and Light that emanates from fires set to consume the spoil
left by Persona's mis-spent reign. The Soul I tend, aspires
to reach beyond the bonds of gravity. The rake and hoe
I use, are tools gained from repurposing what were desires
the Ego loosed, to serve its endless appetite for mo'.
One has to want with all one's heart and will, to rise
above turmoil and squalor, to reach that place where true
scale and order come clear. Winglessness awaits unwise
pretenders in the worship of Truth and Goodness. The few
who figure out, 'devotion' is a verb, and does not mean
praising some Lord, stand half a chance of breaking Ego's arm.
Its long hard work to smash impediments that block and screen
the toiling tendrils of a Soul becoming whole. The harm
they cause, enough cannot be said. This time on Earth was meant
to shape the energies we are, to face the world to come.
Tactically we must address the mess and cess, and our descent
to regions meaningless and dark. We don't admit we're dumb
and so we strut about and spout. Who can repair a flaw
in thought, he does not recognize as his? Who doubles down
on stupid things believing them to be beyond the Laws
of that which brought them here at first? This false 'who' dufus clown
exists because a certain someone thinks he knows it all.
We're hornswaggled to deep degree, and stubborn as a stump.
Pedestrian will be one's mode, for some more like a crawl.
Wheels that roll and wings that glide, won't soothe the thousand bumps
that wait to rock your ride. Consciousness, unmanacled from vice,
can bring rich and rare detail, to wherever it locks an eye.
It looks, it doesn't think, it includes, and doesn't blink. Precise,
astute and shrewd suffice, to ponder every question why.