smallship1 disagreed…

with my previous poem, and I wrote this in comments.

The body and the mind are the two hands
that weave the self between them, interplay
a dialogue that may change day to day
creates consistency. Self understands

what neither flesh nor mind can apprehend
yet is a fiction and a referee
yet needs to be reined in. So fluently
its guesses become fantasies and end

in things we cannot know, that are not there
-God, Hell and Heaven – all ways to deny
the simple tasks life gives us. Mortify
the flesh, confuse the mind. Hope and despair.

The self’s a servant. Use it, never let
it rule, or you will die full of regret.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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