Addiction Poetry‎ > ‎

The Great Escape

by John Ault
 
The unrealistic expectations,

The thinly veiled manipulations and social incantations;

sophisticated indulgences focused on satisfying the insatiable demands of our human predicament.

These things drain our soul so that we can no longer enjoy life’s simple pleasures

that would bombard our daily lives with joy and contentment if we could only lower our sites.

 

We are children playing with the box and ignoring the toy.

Preferring to read about adventure rather than live it,

We daydream about exploring distant galaxies, while ignoring our own back yard,

We sample life’s relationships vicariously through sick soap operas and sarcastic sit coms,

rather than risking personal first-hand immersion because we fear the giants of rejection and embarrassment.

These Cyclops stand at the gate of Intimacy blocking our way.

But they are only giant balloons that explode into nothing when pricked with the pin of humility.

 

Plastic makes a wonderful container for my catsup, but not my soul.

Pretend is a necessary and marvelous world for a 3 year old, but a psychosis for adults.

We’ve called evil good and good bad

darkness, light and say that light is blind.

We’re absolutely sure there are no absolutes of any kind.

 

We have exchanged clichés’ for communication,

Entertainment for rest,

Addictions for family,

Sex for affection,

Promises for Commitment,

and Madison Avenue for our brain.

 

But how can we expect to connect with reality when we’ve denied Reality’s existence and called it fantasy.

We chop off the roots and wonder why the branches die.

We glibly believe in an effect without a cause.

We struggle with our own worthlessness when we’ve rejected Him who gives us meaning and worth.