We talk ourselves out of Godhood
providing as evidence a brief biography,
the myopic, illusory improvisation
of our latest mortal endeavor.
We stagger lifelong under the terrible onus
of guilt and regret rather than let go
the antithetical notions of autonomy -
virtue, liberty and triumph.
So stage struck are we,
enamored of the gallant figure we cut
in our fantasies and reflections,
that our roles of suffering we dutifully perform,
unwilling to take a backseat,
have our stage name forever struck
from the program and marquee.
O child of God, step off the edge
and tumble into oblivion.