Moribund Compass

How tenuous the direction

How precarious the choice

How desolate the self-condemnation.

So drifts the disintegration

Of man’s moral compass.

True conscience

Has been tricked

By the mesmeric pull of delusion.

What happened to our innate true north of principles?

That direction that guaranteed we could find ourselves

Even when forces tried to shroud us in falsehood?

Pity the many now misled

In a mind-complacency of servitude,

Synaptic rhythm in chaos,

The sense of right and wrong

Afloat in a nether land of lostness.

Yet…

Some of us know the path needs not

Someone else’s direction,

Another’s command.

The fortunate have cast the moribund compass aside,

Choosing instead the oft times lonely venture

Into the true north of genuineness by instinct.