The Thinking Poet


Self Deception

Tell me,

As you nestle in the secret recesses

Of your innermost self,

Safe from the searching stare,

Spared the demands of the robot role,

Out of reach of propriety;

What do you see?

The fragile figure of a child

Inelegantly clothed in the flimsy garments

Of an unsure maturity,

Wide-eyed still with wonder,

Though partially glazed

By the dull opacity

Of a sick, despairing age;

Pathetic in his helplessness,

Longing for some assurance

Of life’s meaningfulness,

Desperate for the warmth of love,

Starving for the taste of joy?

Or do you turn aside,

Averting your eyes

From the true self,

Choosing only to see the face

You hope that others see?