Battle In the Id
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In I'd slide, then slid, into the id.
Inside, the thorny thicket ten feet high
buried behind my mind, where it has hid
arising around me, no way to get by.
In the throes of the hedgerow, the ego goes
a word warrior of literate gore.
Sits there, a moaning monster, as it grows
each foe that is fought, it brings on one more.
The volley of verses is too insane.
Self survives, then thrives as ego contrives
why is there no reason one can explain
to take on all comers, ending their cries.
That battle that we wage and want to win
if you do, you have slayed the you within.
Copyright © Greg Gaul | Year Posted 2021
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