Count on it

Are we responsible for our own ignorance?

In the glaring revelation of one's own shortcomings

the temptation to forget and continue as things were

is great.

The blame must be rested on a person such as that.

But learning of a weakness,

resting one's focus upon it,

and doing what must needs be done to address it

is the only action a responsible sentient being can take.

So,

Here am I.

The truth of missteps pouring in my eyes.

For over thirty years I've been exhausting

actions that have failed their grand intention.

As if to render constant perturbation I am met

with the daily dissertation from these esoteric silhouettes.

Oh the trivial, the petty things

these beings that surround

they pretend to be my species

but the dawning realization has astounded me.

I pretended that we were similar.

I pretend to stand on common ground.

I create in the place of those before me, an image of a driver behind those eyes.

A creature with dreams and hopes and wishes not very unlike mine.

Now growing, as the daylight, this awareness of that lie.

As it does, the truth creeps upon my resting state.

Slowly making it's presence known from the shadows

until, unassuming, unannounced,

It takes hold of me complete.

The simple fact now exists as if it were always part of me.

About my form the water turned to boil.

These bodies float up in my vision, roiling.

As the light beneath this microscope is suddenly switched "ON"

I now see myriad differences between us clearly shone.

Because I see that choice of waking life belonging to them

is the only path by which I can maintain my sanity,

I can no longer afford the mental effort and anguish

of expecting the actions of foreign bodies to make sense to me.

Waiting for the substance that surrounds me to mature

surely pushes boundaries through the depths of futility.

The things that do not matter will filter to obscurity.

Leaving only in it's wake:

The pure defining love of truth inherent in reality

the value of things beyond our pleasures temporarily

these distractions which, to prey, all falling they.

 

My first assessment:

 The human race were victims

and these temptations were set upon them by some malicious consciousness

seeking to keep all sentience in the dark

while completing it's malicious deeds  

beyond the short term, distracted mind.

 

My current assessment:

as near as days away it dawned upon me

No intelligence behind this curtain dwells

They have built this prison only for themselves.

The pain of bearing life to much to carry.

The weight of truth became to much to bare.

Demeaning to the importance 'self' invented.

Inflicted ease of constant distraction begets a greater comfort. 

the fact about it is

the truth only begins

to shed light unto all things

 stolen comfort on this clings.

 

For a time I tried to fight

to wake them up
assault some semblance of freedom

but the slave that has broken themselves

and accepted the fate of their servitude
will never be free

and will, in most cases I have seen,
 rebel against the chance of freedom for the comfort of the know.

Even if what they count on is servitude.

Even if what they count upon is a hatred of the mundane.

Even if they count on the routine that is killing them.

The comfort of a slow death that they see coming is,
to the willing slave,
better than the uncertain world born seeking freedom of the real.