A man stares into himself, what does he see?

Reflections of mortality, past, present, uncertainty,

Disappointment’s darkened visage, triumph’s basking glory,

Find home in the chaotic swirls of the soul,

Tread softly, o wise traveller,

Turn not your back on fate,

Destiny’s caresses far too sweet to ignore,

Bliss in pain, gracious to know that pain means life,

Look deeper, what more do you see, o searcher of self,

Does the stench of imperfection throw you back?

Or are you too secure? Hiding behind a thick hide

of self-righteousness and delusions of grandeur?

Seek not what you hope not to find,

For ignorance is better thatn losing your mind,

Over your true self,

Choking on the truth,

if there’s such a thing left in you,

Look into you, eyes wide open, opened for anything but the truth,

Heart hardened by constant hammering of lies,

Ears clogged up by mounting insecurities,

A man looks into his heart, what does he see?

Another man looking back at him? “Can that be me?”

Disgusted by the truth, pushes away with all his might,

Like a butterfly trapped in the rain,

Colors fading fast…yet eyes still blind,

Ears still filled with sweet nothingness of blissful ignorance,

The pool ripples, gone are the images of truth,

Washed away in the showers of self deception,

A man looks into himself, what does he see?

Everything, all the world and more,

Everything except the plagued soul that longs to be free.