My ego’s like a mighty arm
Which wields a double-headed axe
And concentrates on doing harm
To compensate for what it lacks.
And yet, despite its hateful traits,
That doesn’t mean that it exists;
It’s like a ghost which pounds the gates
With both of its fictitious fists.
But how my consciousness is whipped
By ego’s tongue of sheer disdain!
To think that one so ill-equipped
Could cause such unrelenting pain!
For all my being’s made of light,
My darkness seems to win each fight.
Photo by Alexis Fauvet on Unsplash
