On my journey to the bottom,
to the root of how-i-act
the accuser lies in wait,
with his monkeys on my back
beneath self-hate and others-judgment
through crippled panic attacks
fringed about by distortions
where nerves were and are still wracked…

there he waits.

the wretched one demands of me
a sacrifice of what-i-could.
he glares at me cold demanding
as if what-follows understood.
round his frame, all my failings
circle round as minions true
and my pride forms the scepter
with which he ruled all-i-can-do…

i wait.

because i pause he calls to me
with radiant gifts in outstretched hand
he cries with sweetest melodies
that seem to echo through the lands
i pause there and look deeper still
through veils through mirrors memories
remembering a lost innocence
forgetting some lost vanities…

i wait.

“you can’t defeat me,” he speaks at last,
“on your hate i feed”
“i can’t defeat you” i admit
“by my word or deed.
you live on greed and ignorance,
and feed on pride and hate.
You’ve been with man since time began, and always lie in wait.

in wait.

Yet i know of One that you do fear
who plays no mirror games,
these minions are no match for Him,
He’ll steal that pride-built cane.
His madness is the sweetest gift
for those who breathe life sane
and in His light all disappears,
now shall i speak His name…”

sitting there
in chamber bare
a mirror on the wall
reflecting some of the sun’s light
not placed to show it all.
dust motes through the air do dance.
the room is empty, spacious.
tests of will.
lessons still.
patience. patience.


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