Judgment

Judgment’s a tumor that clenches the chest.

Benign when it’s weak, malignant at its best.

It makes us feel good, lifts our ego up high,

Hiding in plain sight, it sucks its host dry.

We think we are right, above, looking down,

But the judge is a prisoner, wearing a crown.

A mask of control, a fleeting disguise—

For judgment’s dead weight blinds more than the eyes.

Each thought we cast like a brick from our mind,

Builds walls of illusion that leave us confined.

We point at the splinter in another’s frame,

Blind to the rot that hollows our own name.

Judgment feeds the ego; it craves being right,

But in this false glow, we dim our own light.

The energy drains, the spirit erodes,

Our heart grows heavy, our soul overloads.

The judged walk free, unchained by our view,

But judgment, a mirror, reflects what is true:

Each label we give, each verdict we bind,

Reveals the state of our own troubled mind.

To see without judgment is to truly be free—

To let the world be as it’s meant to be.

For love does not measure, compare, or divide;

It embraces the whole, complete and untied.