Beware of comfort
As it forges paralysis.
Your perception is plundered
As you drink from its chalice.
You fall into anesthesia
Dancing like a ballerina,
Manipulated with invisible strings
That cut out any possible wings.
Comfort calls for your own diminishing
And latent mental death
When you end-up mimicking
Others to impress.
Should you become a critical thinker?
A free agent with no attachment?
Heaven on earth is not comfort,
But yourself sculptured
Through the constant reminder
Of awareness as its cutting edge chisel
That makes you want to whistle.