Lives Of Pride

Sometimes I feel like a replica of before;
as though I’d been born many times;
a child’s drawing on a refrigerator door;
or a sketch artist’s many designs.

I am that sketch, in need of revisions;
fueling the Artist’s intentions;
destiny chose the Artist’s decisions;
altering all reality’s dimensions.

I’ve been here many times before;
don’t ask me how that I know;
life and death; the same open door;
designed to allow all to grow.

Time is drawing me close to that door;
but each of us has a commission;
when God decides, I’ll exit once more;
all deaths are the Master’s decision.

Still, at this time, I feel out of place;
a puzzle piece, that doesn’t fit in;
success is past; leaving only disgrace;
I must start all over again.

I see a world, being destroyed by divisions;
eroding away solid rocks of belief;
where tyranny makes all our decisions;
and evil guides us to destiny’s reef.

Greed and corruption fester deep inside;
only upon faith must all rely;
for tyranny, itself, is the soul of pride;
and the soul of all pride must die.

Monty 8/5/22. # 1,247