I built a throne of “I” and “mine,”
A mirror made of gold and grime,
Each thought a crown, each word a chain,
A fortress forged from fear and fame.
I speak, I shout, I need to be—
The loudest echo, endlessly.
A captive king in silent war,
Guarding masks I can’t ignore.
Eyes that search but never see,
Hearts I weigh for worth to me.
Love becomes a game of scales,
Measured by my pride’s details.
I drink applause like water dry,
But choke beneath a watchful sky.
For in the self I seek to feed,
I starve the soul with swollen need.
What is this cage, this gilded ghost?
I’m haunted by the self I boast.
The more I grasp, the more I grieve,
The less I live, the less I leave.
Yet somewhere past the noise and name,
A whisper calls beneath the flame.
Not mine, not me, just breath and flow—
To break the self and let life grow.
But here I sit, not free, not whole,
A prisoner of my paper soul.
The key? Perhaps to just let go…
But ego clings—it won’t say no.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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This is a profound and piercing exploration of ego’s prison. It masterfully depicts the exhausting, self-created cage of pride, possession, and the desperate need for external validation, which ultimately starves the soul it tries to glorify. A powerful reminder of the freedom found not in building a self, but in letting it go.