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Egomania

The self 
is but a wicked dream 
that lifts you high 
to let you fall.

"Inflatable", men call such boast 
that stretches the imagine 
so to propel the I 
to heights unknown to none save "me".

A bloated thrill is I 
whose bubble bursts too soon, 
fading into the insignificance 
of a splat of spit.

Why do we flatter ourselves 
by raising pompous sails 
to catch the wind that blows 
in the doldrums of our self-esteem?

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things