Rivulets of Lies

And what of this consideration,
this synaptic disturbance,
a clash of confronting wills
moving with the flow,
even as options beg attention.

In the beginning…

Opposites,
yin and yang,
hot and cold,
struggle against
the protection of sanity.

A sense of indecision,
like the clouds
of one’s ether,
rise to converge,
only to slumber through the tempest.

For…

Just as pressure might burst,
so too the boiling kettle
may spew its residual,
the whistle warning
like lightning afar,
the eruption near.

Eruption awaits its next opportunity.
For just as Nature reinvents itself continually,
so too the human mind,
Freud’s 3 in 1 of sanity
plays upon one’s own cycle.
Patterns connect,
dismantle,
find new tributaries,
all for the quest to
accept
understand
or
perhaps remain anesthetized?

Some want only to sleep…

To escape incessant obviation of reason
and allow crickets’ voices
to create a lull for the void.

Some of us…

Struggle to vanquish this nightmarish noise,
allow ethereal melody its rightful time,
stifle echoes unbridled,
breath deep the purified air of repose.

But sleep is deprived.
Restless racket abounds.

Their solipsistic quicksand,
forever remaining the glue,
encounters solvents of truth struggling
to dissolve fear’s fossilizing of moral sense.

To awaken…

A morning’s sunlight
breaks curtained exile.
While crickets sleep,
alarm bells beckon
our programming response.

Again…

Disturbance looms.
Awakened actions once more warrant attention,
to either conquer
or surrender,
all for a contemporary time,
where absent morals,
ethics,
and simple decency,
our narcissist smothered super-ego
hangs by tenuous principled strands.

But fail
it cannot,
for while
the instincts of id forever massages
our mulish ego of reality,
super ego’s morality continues weaving the
tapestry of reason and conscience,
waiting
and
trusting.

Yet…

Will leadership again be so spineless,
knowing rivulets of lies
become tributaries,
become ocean-fathoms of darkness?