My Higher Self

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. No, 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.. ~