Updated: Jan 5
Nestled blythely in our illusion of security and privilege
We content ourselves with the well-oiled preoccupation of perceived control
Over the personal image we project like a popular screensaver
Ours is a mournful, hollow comfort enmeshed with our deceit of others and ourselves.
For all are frightened even if only some admit to its choking clutch.
Fear is indeed the mind killer, just as Herbert decried
So many try to smother and tame its contortions into a private
Pandora’s Box which whether hidden in a billionaire’s tasteless tower
Or proudly on display in a garbage collector’s hard-earned walkup
All open to reveal the same changeless human destiny.
Loathe be to those who refuse to see that kindness is the only sane escape
For the real hell still awaits them, lying in wait to expose their feckless conceit.