alas but for an egress,
from the excess
I wear thin this imposter’s veil of deity.
This spot strokes my mind,
flaming and fanning a smoldering of brokenness
of the Sorrow that underlies the everything and the always.
It is a waiting beast,
lurking before tomorrow,
ravenous against satiety,
heedless of victory or achievement or the unlaureled appointments of Duty.
The success is a mask,
avatar and persona for someone else
for another ego.
There is nowhere to turn,
and the unraveling threads
manifest the tapestry.
There lies no buffer from the pain,
and Sorrow begins to lap at my ignorance.