here comes the song of singing delight,
here comes the funeral of melachonly blue,
here comes fire of burning, smoky heat,
here comes the temptation of golden glory wrapped in lies and fault,
wrapped in
trickery.

his sinister wiles and surreptitious beauty,
his arrogant ego and pitiful grief,
he deceives and tricks and lies and laughs,
all the while knowing
no better will befall him.

what a pitiful creature,
though I don't suppose my pity will be appreciated,
I suspect my pity shall only in turn anger the already riled up, decaying mind of his.
my pitiance shall rip open what little pride he holds close to himself,
shall only topple his ego furthermore.

who, however, do I speak of?
God? The Devil? My friend?

I am easily influenced,
but am loyal, a devout follower,
religious some would say,
a good friend others may,
but to you, dear reader, - and yes, I am aware you read this and most likely choose to ignore my words for the simple truth yet to be stated -
my nature is of no consequence to you,
for I am simply another face in the crowd,
of little importance any such person would deign to give.

At times I wonder how my brain works,
it seems as though many of my - predictions? intuition? instinct? - is correct.
I perceive those, not how they wish to be perceived, but how their true, inner self is.
omniscient almost.
peculiar.

Other times, I wonder how my mind works for very different reasons.
I have what some would call a vicious streak,
a stain of cruelty swiped across my personality,
I am uncaring, unempathetic, hateful,
at times,
though I strive to be otherwise,
it's truth, I cannot deny.
I know such actions will not bring fortune -
quite the opposite, in fact -
but I do so anyway, for some inscrutable reason, unknown even to myself.

However, every so often, I wonder why
I am ever so loyal to my friends,
to the point that my gift of perception of a person's true nature
becomes corrupt. It seems to longer work,
with friends at least,
and I get hurt because of it,
because I place absolute trust in them,
complete faith that they are good people.

But as I said, who am I to judge myself?
I am not God. I am not the Devil.
Nor am I my own friend.
So who am I to pass judgement
on the inner workings only these three people
could ever hope to know.

© stele