Beware the pedestals you build so high,
With hands of clay and fleeting dreams,
For man-made gods are bound to die,
In the shadows of your silent screams.
Imagination weaves a lethal spell,
Perceptions blind the thinking mind,
Yet in the end,
the truth will tell,
That gods of man are far from kind.
Fragile are the idols we create,
Disposable as the whims we chase,
Expectations only feed the weight,
Of illusions time will soon erase.
So,
measure worth in fleeting things,
Not in desires that can deceive,
For shattered hopes and broken wings,
Are the gifts of those we believe.
Steinbeck saw through the disguise,
In wisdom,
warned of idols’ fall,
Review your trust,
where it lies,
Or face the shattered truth of all.
©️ 2024 Samantha Syrnich TLC, All Rights Reserved.
Art: ‘Crumbled Ideals’
The Phoenix Quill: Words Born of Fire, Inked in Truth 