There is a sense of obligation
in all humankind.
There is an urgency within,
from consciousness or DNA,
to make of self an arbiter of all that is.
But is it for ourselves, or from our birth.
or far beyond the shadows
of some karmic history
to take the road of sacrifice,
or fall in beds of soft and warm desire?
At each, the gates to heaven and hell are met;
with each, the chance of vision...or decay.
No, clocks and calendars will rule
as lesser gods, while gain is king,
and make us what we are.
Birth to death, defining gain
for such defines the particle of self
and of the universe that we create.
Thus is built a prison from within,
self-made, and cherished evermore.
For freedom is the stuff of fancy--
we have set the bars,
and fixed the price of our release,
and always just beyond the reach.
For there is the reward,
the self ablaze, refined, consumed,
and emptied...were it not
for one minute, pervasive, burnished spot
Copyright © Robert Ludden