Mar 20, 2006 06:28
This poem needs a lot of editing... I'm not sure I'm happy with it, I think I need to add more to it. Oh, well. It's a work in progress.
The voices that have invited themselves
Into my head without my consent
Seem always to be chattering
Talking to me
Never on a useful subject
But instead are only trying
To confuse me utterly and entirely
By the nonsense of their pretty, hatefilled words.
At once they tell me that
What I do is right
What I do is sacred
And men will applaud my actions.
Wearing the twin costumes,
One of angelic beauty,
With a form full of heavenly grace
Complete with white feathered wings,
The other costume being the
Impish, horned and evil devil
Pitchfork, cloven-hoofed, with pitchfork.
This other costume tells me that what I do
Is never nearly good enough
That everything should
And could be better
That I have layed my hands on.
These costumes the voices wear
While on the outside being completely different
Are, on the inside, one and the same.
This leads to the question I can only ask myself
What's a man to do when
It seems his own worst enemy is himself?