Vainglory Realized
I am the whisper, subtle and unseen,
A shadow stretching, where goodness has been.
I build my castles on shifting sand,
Demanding tribute from every hand,
A silent monument to what I crave,
A selfish master, a gilded grave.
I stand apart, though surrounded close,
Consumed by self, in the seeds I sow.
We are the bronze-shod feet that do not tire,
The hollow boast that sets the plain on fire;
We crave the field where every loss is gain,
And drink the bitter vintage of the rain.
We are the thirst that no peace can appease,
The roaring mouths that strip the olive trees,
And watch the cities dwindle to a name,
All for the mirrored glory of our flame.
But notice the sunbeam, a delicate gleam,
Piercing the darkness, a hopeful, soft stream.
For even the deepest of shadows can cease,
When the light of awareness brings solace and peace.
The garden can flourish, the ego can cease its reign,
And the self finds connection, again and again.
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