Worlds

Why, nursing a grudge against the world, do we hide ourselves away in prisons of grief? Drowning in fear, in pain, in regret, we rub our hope thin, straight through to holes, turning the soul, in the process, into cheese. We spend our allotted time in torment, losing ourselves in foolish relationships, smearing the air with our own recklessness. And people become labels — this one's untalented, that one's an idol. This one's lost himself in pleasures. Another, stuck in endless reconciliations — a donor on the outside, a vampire within. We rage in indulgence, blaming it all on excess, giving in to desire out of our own prejudice. And forever drowning in envy and insult, you inevitably sink down to your lowest point. Don't forget — you're the commander here! Defend your honor in battle, don't stain it hiding in the armory. Let your uniform hang in the front hall, not the closet. In the fog of wars, don't lose your bearings, and this body of yours, torn by shrapnel — save it. It'll be needed to help save others. They need a kind guide. Notice: a guide, not a guard! Our definitions have gotten tangled all around. No wonder our own musings lead us, down a stranger's road, into someone else's monastery. We search for the elixir of eternal life — all for nothing, we spend our life in exile from ourselves. Death is not our enemy, and in peace we trade this world for another.