Turning the Tables
by Michael Doyle

Come on now; be on the level
The details between God and the Devil
Add up to a fuzzy sort of math
Where we humans stumble on the path

Sometimes the thoughts spin our heads
And we sink into slouch, pretending we're dead
Not wanting to stick our foot in the water
Maybe the toes and not an inch further

The pain we feel is oddly self chosen
As our pride catches us sometimes dozing
The river of deceitfulness feels clever
But takes us on an approach to the never

Of ever getting the things right that we need
It's a small pang inside that we don't heed
As our drifts of mumbles and grumbles tear us down
Painting our smile to the frozen tears of frown

In our self-deceit, we whisper as if we hold truth
It's a complicated game that we've played since youth
Standing in false humility in a Jesus Christ pose
We eke our lives through by the skin of our noses

Turning the tides and turning tables
We keep playing our Cains to everyone else's Abels
We are strangers to ourselves even in full boom
And yet we wonder why we only believe in our doom

The glyceine of it all tends to suck us dry
As we hope that we'll stumble on by
Swallowing our pride despite the heavy cost
Of knowing that most of us are completely lost

(c) July 31, 2023  Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved