It is the merest lurch, a queer-quirk of
An unsure search.
Patience and restraint, and acquire
Opportunities to overcome the fearful
Insecurities that do us taint.
Fleshly age, the toothpick monolith
That holds our dragon-rage at bay.
Our capabilities cannot be stated.
Why would we believe the insults laid
Upon us by a system only wishing to enslave?
To make sure and only do one thing,
And to tune out the Cosmos along
With the luminous song She sang?
Voice of doubt, the grim hand that
Descending tries to snuff our candle out.
The trap that seems external
Yet is really placed within,
The fright that seems our rival
But is actually our friend.
Transcendence of potential, what scares us
Is the paradise that lies beyond the mental.