Not An Even Trade

Small poem of the reality of the world.

I have been to that place, where pleasure rules above all else

Where people go to gain what they cannot, anywhere else

It is where they go to blur the past,

To erase memories, pleasant or unpleasant,

And although I do not deny being there, for I sincerely thought I needed it.

I did not fell for its intoxicating bait.

I rejected the offer to be put in an altered state of mind.

Rejected to be caught in a moment clouded by lies,

For that is what those drugs do,

They alter all that is you.


Intoxicants lock the imbiber in the present, the here and now

All without regard for the future, without consideration of the past,

And that is the trap that many fall into and err,

A defeatist that allows for attempted situations of physical pleasure


An intoxicated person will attempt foolhardy dares,

Because of that inner guidance, deep within themselves

Even to the point of survival instinct itself, can be so impaired

For how many men, due to consumption of the drugs, erred?

How many young women find themselves with child, and scared?

Conceived with lovers they would not even consider as future husband or cared?


That is the trap, the defeatist perspective that I cannot tolerate.

I live my life with hope, always hope,

That the future will be better than the present

But as long as I make it so

So how could I remain honest to that hope?

If I allow myself a moment of weakness that could well destroy all I have worked for?

How might I have reacted to so many unexpected crises?

If at the time of occurrence, I was influenced by a mind-altering substance?

One that impairs my judgment or alters my perspective, as it arises?


Also, the dangers of where such substances might lead cannot be underestimated, for it is sin.

Had I allowed myself to be carried away with the mood of that awful place

Had I allowed myself the sensual pleasures offered by the women in the stage

How cheapened might any honest encounter of love have been?

Greatly, to my way of thinking at least

Sensual pleasure are, or should be, the culmination of physical desires,

Combined with an intellectual and emotional decision, that one selects

A giving of oneself, body and spirit, in a bond of trust and respect

It is that which you will not find in such a place.

It could occur as a giving of body only and that pleasure would only be but a decoy

There would have been no higher joining, no spiritual experience, and no true joy


I cannot live in such a hopeless basking of that, for that is what it is:

A pitiful basking in the lower, base levels of existence,

Brought on, I believe, by the lack of hope for a higher level of existence.

And so I reject all but the most moderate use of such intoxicants,

And while I’ll not openly judge those who so indulge,

I will pity them their empty souls.


What is it that drives a person to such depths?

Perhaps they feel they cannot gain that true joy,

Or Perhaps they are unable to find that someone whom to share the moment with?

I do not truly know,

Intoxicants can indeed bring you that pleasure; can make you feel good,

But it is not an even trade, at least I so believe.


Those who cannot look inside themselves,

Those who cannot achieve the highest level of self-awareness,

I believe they are doom to fall into that void, that utter blackness,

They will indeed get the pleasure, and they will indeed feel alive

But it is a limited and empty moment, that will come to an end

It is what it is, and it is a lie.

The End

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