Selves are vastly complex things designed to behave
With the freedom of spirit to know their desire
On an intimate level. Sometimes they get lost
In expressive minutia for fame at great cost
To the self’s sense of purpose. The spirit on fire
For the height that ignites it is what all selves crave.
Should I go for the gusto of leaping my way
Through the clouds of my consciousness without a care
For affairs of the real world for just a short while?
What’s become reminiscent of some ancient smile
Can be changed in an instant with one simple prayer
For some ease in existing to accent each day.
What supports what is simple is elegant ease
In between mundane moments when time can stand still.
As I age I become more childlike in my ways
Complete with temper tantrums that no self can praise.
If I’m due for a time out, that would be a thrill.
There’s no mental authority I need to please.