2010/09/20 Prisons Poem by Margaret Alice

I am so glad I learnt I was not intelligent
when I was small, that I was made to see
how humble I was meant to be because I
could not master routine work, even when
I manage to acquire some accomplishment
it becomes a taunt because it always seems
meaningless in the extreme to me

I have to earn my living by overcoming many
shortcomings - the inability to perform under
conditions of extreme boredom - the absence
of challenge and excitement, my system making
mastering repetition well-nigh impossible; my life
is dedicated to laws, rules and regulations which
have no spiritual or moral application

I am aware life is a game, we make up rules and
follow them in order to fabricate root assumptions
as a basis for reality, existence and ideas, it has no
eternal validity, it is confining and restrictive, and the
only reason I have to follow it is because I am in this
physical prison until I die - while my entire entity - the
complete gestalt of which I am a part

Is unlimited, free, and waiting for this little personality
I have become through so much pain and suffering, to
catch up and fuse again with the larger being that is the
whole me - being small and insignificant like this in order
to understand the concept of self-made prisons is no fun
at all and I am heartily sick of playing boring games…