Get thee behind me.

A soliloquy.

Get Thee Behind Me, Pride!

Call not the season in hell your finest,
or bend to the will of reason
on the morning of your passage---
I will feel you not.

Bow down in apathy...
you're reverence the steeple
in greying folds of timeless sleep---
I will know you not.

encrypt the sullen blind martyrs,
I recognize the weapons,
I've used them well---
I will fight you not.

proffer grief stricken olive branches
held in hands withered in time's kisses
it dies, it dies, it gasps in dead iamb---
( I will harm you not. )

 

Author's Note

this is an inner conversation between cognition and humility as it flows through the conduit of self-awareness.