The Selfish Egoist Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A self so grand, a tiny world,
Where only 'I' is tightly furled.
The sun to shine, the moon to gleam,
Must serve the ego's endless dream.

No thought for those who walk nearby,
Just 'mine' and 'me, ' beneath the sky.
A church, a creed, a gentle word,
For them, a distant, muffled herd.

They build their towers, tall and steep,
While others falter, lose their sleep.
A game of power, sharp and cold,
Where kindness is a story old.

No praise they crave, no shining light,
But mirror back the hurt they blight.
To feel the sting, the hollow space,
Of others' pain, upon their face.

No right, no wrong, just what they'll gain,
A heart of stone, a barren plain.
The goal is me, the means are all,
Until they finally, sadly fall.