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