because that is easier than admitting
we’re not in control
because it doesn’t leave the after taste of
because that is more palatable
than tending to self induced scar tissue
than no mastication dissolves
He, hoped so much,
I hope, much less,
I know I’m not in control,
I’m that far removed though, that I am out of control.
That however, he never stooped to.
What folly overwhelms us,
that our fortune be left in the hands of our feebleness,
or so we assume.
Hold our mind to lofty grandeur,
whilst starve our soul until it is a beggar,
sitting at the gutter of our heart,
asking for a dime of reflection.
We worry about the capitalists of the world
when we have enslaved ourselves,
dictators of self genocide,
we make ourselves extinct,
then turn to those worse than us for help.
Hucksters disguised as psychologists,
when all we have to do,
is shut this mouthy brain up,
let the soul instead be the command centre,
the heart it’s companion,
the brain it’s slave.