Four Letters


It is not what the senses would have us believe

To see, touch and feel

Truth would be more of a meal

When revealing the capacity behind this zeal


Is not as enlightening as the followers tell

Show not, eat not, and do not but still trundle into hell

It is nothing more, and nothing less, than an empty shell

Open it and you’ll have your soul to sell


Is one to another and nought to nothing

Running around, pushing and shoving

The world anew, different lights and longing

Prone to pain and hell-bent on judging


Is all it sizzles down to

Temporary, rendering it capable of having everything to lose

Many on the pathway but only one to choose

Will it be the man on earth or the one above? Or is it possible to reach a truce?



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