Lepsog Eht

Twenty years you’ve taken to carve
the optimum outline, the perimeterally perfect cookie cutter.
You’ve mounted kind-worded gems, and store it all
in philosophy’s finest box of pseudo-truth.

And you’re proud and you’re caring
and you’re vain and you’re human
and your reason for it all was to heal the human soul.

Now, She enters,
biologically benevolent, naturally nurturing the human condition.
She calls your name, O Valiant One,
She desires to heal your soul.

And She’s loving and She’s vain
and She’s naïve and She’s human
and She’s different from you.

And your insides: rupturing,
churning to help her.
So you open Philosophy’s Finest
and let the gold shine.
And you convince her because
you’re convinced it will help her.
Help you.

She lies down,
adorns your crown, your cookie cutter.
And the slicing: such beautiful stripping...
....of all.....you.....don’t understand....
....so you pull it back and throw it aside
and she’s thrashing
and you try to revive her!

She opens her eyes
of sorrow:
She understands.
No apologies, no reprimands.
She speaks,

“Do you see now?
I saw your heart, your good intentions.
I know you only wanted to heal.
Although your intentions were good,
I love you, still. Be still.”