In
the quiet room where the ego sits,
Pride
counts the cuts and collects the splinters,
Feeding
the hearth with frozen bits
Of
a summer burned into endless winters.
We
build high forts out of fragile clay,
Call
it dignity, call it standing tall,
Trading
the warmth of a clear today
For
the cold relief of a stone – lined wall.
For
trust is a glass that we hold too loose,
And
common sense is a quiet friend
Left
outside while we choose the noose
Of
the crazy games that we won’t unbend.
A
man will trade a garden whole
Just
to prove he was right about the fence,
Carving
a trench through his own small soul
In
a grand display of no common sense.
He
swallows the poison, expects the foe
To
fall from the bitterness in his throat,
Wears
his unforgiveness like a heavy coat
In
the middle of July, refusing to let go!
The
ego whispers, "Remember the slight,"
While
wisdom sighs at the empty cost:
To
win every stupid, burning fight,
And
realize later how much was lost.
Thomas
Theophilus© September 26, 2026
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