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Am I the creator of my own misfortune.
The proprietor of my own sorrow.
Who am I,
the bed ridden soul,
the seeker of tomorrow,
the Mis-understood.
Am I one with animosity,
the burden of my second self,
or maybe it is my third self,
fed up with the habits I hold so dearly.
My direction has faded.
My ambition has halted.
It is nothing but a plague set forth to reduce me.
Will I be a success in my battle,
or will I curcome to the Mis-direction?
All I have are questions,
because my reason has failed me.
All I am is an apparition,
because I walk slow in silence.
There are many within me,
many I call self
I am the one you call two.
I am the two you call three.
My fourth self has not entered this abode,
the self of over standing.
My fifth self lays back, and watches,
for he is my observant self.
My sixth self is the motivator.
The genius behind my sorrow.
My seventh is the voice of forgiveness.
He will always be there.
My eighth is my foolish self.
The keeper of all pride.
My ninth self is incarnation.
The natural self.
The one, and the all.
He will fix the imbalance within me,
for he has created it,
and with all the love he possesses
will see to it that benevolence
will find my way,
and joy will knock forosciously at my door.
In the end only he will survive.
For he is myself
..
