The user was not an ugly man to look at,
For his age, ordinary described him well.
The need for incessant chattering he forsook at
Adolescence, not from a distaste to tell
His opinions or ideas to inquirers,
But from not having self-interests dependent
On the approval of peers. Acned admirers,
Early, and later, dowagers resplendent
In the accoutrements of wealth were magnetized
By a mischievous smile and resonant voice
Which brought attention as if he had advertised
For a bit part in a play. Whatever choice
He made came easy, cost little, and provided
No impetus to constructive development
Of character. Duty and ought were elided
More from ignorance than from an entrapment
Of right-thinking. Self-denial or sacrifice
Seemed the product of poor planning and effort;
Honor meant knights scaling chivalry's precipice
When in armor, to downplay pleasures, inert.
He chased through commitments, school, job and romance,
Skimming the cream off raison d'etre's rich top,
A cool crock in life's springhouse, by which performance
Attesting the pusillanimous milksop
Who lacked imperturbability, becoming
Whatever, whenever, as long as ego
Enhancing. Predictably unbecoming,
Miasmically present wherever he'd go,
The aura's energy waned, its glare diminished
Until, inescapably, too late to change,
Aged, more residue than edifice, a finished
Altar, worship long since begun, his sad melange.
Grotesquely chaotic, undesigned monument
To a morbid indulgence...self-absorption
So universal no message could have been sent
Of its destination's abysmal option
Regarding style or architecture's selection
Once having arrived...its ugliness shocked him,
To stunned disbelief, an astonished rejection
It possible his lifestyle had so mocked him!
He was no badman, madman, murderer or thief,
No charlatan, nor abuser of women,
No defiler of the holy causing faith grief,
No sadist seeking limits pain shouldn't summon...
How then, why then was what he saw so unlovely,
If not the just end of a miscreant man?
Illumination, not counted on heavily,
Made crystal clear this was not Justice's plan
But debris from the nonexistence of his own.
"One day at a time, if it feels good, do it"
"Using, comparing, means to an end", the seeds sown
Making people, things, Boardwalks to get "to it",
Or "through it", fuel for frenzied passion's furnace.
Relationships forged from sacrifice's fire,
Foundation stones to beautiful structure, turn us
Inward to our lack, and outward to love's pyre,
Incandescent without destroying the giver,
Immeasurable, modeling the Infinite,
Whose Revelation makes a wastrel, believer,
Inspiration to a user who's contrite.
--Baron Gooberacht von Hottzendog
copyright 1999, The Goober Tree Press, all rights reserved