Like aging a cheap Shiraz

Some call it ego
this self, this stance
rigid arms across the chest
protecting the fragility of our soul
strengthening our resilience

We are armored
when we should be strolling
through Yosemite
with skin and mind exposed
touching the earth's offspring
breathing deep
with unfettered anticipation
and bow shaped ribs

We choose defense over understanding
complicate instead of simplify
proud till we are but a facade
missing the joy of living

Regret is the only presence
enveloping us
and sharing our pillow

We need our ass smacked at times
as we allow
stubbornness and conceit
to sour our soul
thieving notions of  clarity
becoming a shrine
of invincibility

Some call it ego
I call it a wasted life