The Narcissist
He booms through life as if it is his own playground.
The salt in his veins and the speck in his eye
both hold some meaning, yet he’ll never know it.
Though he may seem like one person,
no one can do so much damage without
co-opting millions of injured souls.
There are countless reasons why and
just as much mystery for anything that happens…
I wonder whether we are the tortured spirits,
or they are the ones torturing us.
When I look at him, I realize there’s nothing to do
without some kind of resistance and friction.
Doing something gentle comes to mind,
like a nudge or offering more hugs.
Gravity is one of the weakest forces,
and yet it moves mountains and commands the water.
“Whoever loves becomes humble. Those who love have, so to speak, pawned a part of their narcissism.”
This poem was written on May 12, 2023.
©Brian Mueller - All rights reserved.
