Rather we might recognize pain

brought out, directed upon the vain.

Instead seek resolve well within

a place call it mecca our own Inn.

We wake to the sound of a thunder

to gather our good hide asunder.

When awareness creeps in ugly

we sudden respond quite ruddily

It is the question of sanity carries will

to suggest our lives are run of the mill.

Glance in the mirror at the angst display

no this isn’t goodness, just a selfish way.

Breathe in the peace of a long tired gasp

rather than short tempered, callous grasp