Fuck-ups will find god before finding a mirror.
They’ll seek absolution; rather than see clearer.
They need receptacles outside them for blame.
For, there’s no room inside them with all of that shame.
Their pride’s just skin deep & their heartbeats are shallow
The garden in their minds…infertile & fallow.
When first one falters, one learns; no big deal.
The moniker settles when the cycles’s a wheel.
Eventually every circle is broken.
Better to listen; than leave lessons unspoken.
L.B.Stowe 