The place of fear envelops here.
No way to tell, what’s coming
From the rear, or what’s ahead.
The smoking mirror is an illusion.
Sometimes I wonder where
Is truth in life? Where do the two
Intersect, when it really matters?
Lies confuse, swallow what’s real.
The lie I feel to be real, is
That which hangs around my neck,
When I gather in spaces,
Of those with like mindedness.
Bricks and mortar, or digital
Groups, it doesn’t matter.
Both are full of walls, constructed
Alike, to keep others out.
I am out, even if I am in.
I am not present, when the lies
Begin. I step out, of my own
Volition, when the air is thin.
I have no patience, for groups
Dividing, over fears of others,
Who do not threaten. Being
Unique is not a sin,
Without or within.
Yet, I find in my behavior,
The same judgment, of myself,
And those around me.
Perhaps, it is most true,
In those who are least comfortable
With themselves or others,
A state of being, most common.
And with the discomfort,
Comes a fear, a sense of
Vulnerability, to be devoured,
By the enemies that exist,
Even if those enemies are created,
In ones own mind alone,
For we also put up walls around
Ourselves, in order to protect,
Even if there is no need,
For we do not realize, sometimes,
Who is with and who is against, for
Those who put up walls,
Can be our greatest friends.
I hope I come to see, the company
That’s all around me, is the asset
Best to help me, my true family.