It can become worse of course;
pure potential is vast at source.
Still, fearful anticipation of fear,
only serves to make all unclear.
And surely it can get better too,
by choice of what is right to do.
If we lift the veil upon the mind,
there is Freedom of a true kind.
It can become worse of course;
Euthanized time is sugarsweet remorse;
mere boredom made delightfully worse.
Elated amnesia from start to end of line;
the race out of place so unbearably fine.
This perfect storm of cope and let cope;
all hope high–strung by a noose of rope.
Dear acquaintance, what may go wrong,
with a tried and tested recipe so strong?
Even if someone feels badly offended,
it doesn’t mean offense was intended.
If interaction has to be void of friction,
no expression may escape restriction.
Lest everybody’s eventually offensive,
and everyone is proactively defensive.
The honesty that we proclaim so dear,
will thus be shackled by crippling fear.
Such madness, unchecked, turns viral,
descending into a degenerating spiral.
Genuinity will suffer in such an abyss;
may we choose more wisely than this.
“I would, if it wasn’t for…”
This invisible prison door;
harboured fear at its core.
No start or a midway quit,
every aversion to commit;
a fruition is denied permit.
Awaiting the perfect time,
that might never be mine;
paradigm paralysis prime.
Imagine gossip as a case in a court of law;
the best anecdotal spectacle you ever saw.
The absent defence now dismissed as lies,
any presumption of innocence silently dies.
Not any subsequent return to one’s senses
can rein in all the damaging consequences.
Either way, the verdict spreads like wildfire,
unstoppable in spite of any contrary desire.
Tranquil, abiding with a fistful of phone,
enchanted by this dazzling screen-light,
lullabied by the sweet notification tone;
requiem for virtual dream to take flight!
Sensations going wild as it finally rings,
the loyal ear rushes valiantly to its side;
eager, anticipating any gossip it brings!
Alas, the salesman had little to confide.
Doing the same over and over again,
expecting different results is insane.
True if circumstances don’t change;
that would however be very strange.
Mastery rests firmly upon repetition,
where ability increases by condition.
Juvenile elephants are tied to poles;
too weak to resist their forced roles.
Still same rope as they grow strong;
a broken spirit will not rectify wrong.
What of our forfeits and inhibitions;
which stories fuel our submissions?
Lies have no power to really create,
only to corrupt, invert and simulate.
Convincing us that truth is not true,
making us forget what we all knew.
Ever the seemingly opposed sides;
obscuring where the trickery hides.
Heed which waters are thrown out;
here proverbial babies swim about.
Beliefs have proclivity to self-confirm;
we propagate the thoughts we affirm.
Not just any flights of fancy mind you,
but that which we deeply hold as true.
“No one deserves my unique wonder”
may truly be “unlovable” hiding under.
Real shadow work may serve us well;
the antidote to a self-maintained hell.
Feelings are of mind, emotions by the heart;
ever seeking each other, yet strangely apart.
If the energies in motion aren’t properly felt,
how can these companions creatively melt?
Likewise with happiness ungrounded in joy;
an endeavour made from a disastrous ploy.
The dance between conveyed and received,
determining every manifestation conceived.