My Higher Self

Written by: Robert Ludden

I sense him watching with amusement
at my foolishness,
though I have need of him
else I would run amok.

Yet sometimes I resent him for his caution.
Let him play within his spirit world;
for mine,  though just a fantasy
outranks his in its solidity.

I must admit it is the best 
illusion I could ask;
for though I know that time
may only trickle out at my life's close--
the world is on a suicidal binge,
whiIe I may stay the game

if I remain within the present, cling
to it tenaciously;  mine is not
the gloomy prophet's role.  I am
the celebrant, the last remaining lover
quite as much adored and unrepenting, 
thank you,  as your bleeding Lord.

I do not mock him as do those
with ears which will not hear
or hearts that will not bleed. 
I mock your truth...and as I speak my own,
that too is just a hollow creed.

May I instead look up, enabled 
(not at all enlightened by pure truth)  
rather by desire to sense its fire within,
where words may never win the day..