Pandora's Box

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.