This morning I shall try to set
my sights against the hypocrite
that dwells inside me, giving pause
to any who would praise my cause.
I seek him out, this two-faced toad
whose inner turmoil oft explodes
in fits of misdirected rage
against his keepers, or his cage,
and bid him walk with me a while,
to value substance, over style,
and for a moment to forget
those years developing regret
for dreams undreamt, and songs unsung,
denying that we are among
the smallest spots in life’s design
yet claim so wildly, “mine, mine, mine.”
This morning, for it’s early stil,
there’s time to catch him, and I will,
to, at least for an hour or two,
pretend that he’s illusion, too.
07 DEC 2004
