When it seems too hard

When it seems too hard,
Stop.
And it is me alone 
That I am trying to convince.
And it may be that you will not.
On and on you’ll fly, perhaps,
Into that bright flash 
Of brilliant light
That awaits “the faithful”
But I am not; faithful that is,
To the God of my own ambition.
I am a fickle follower,
A traitor.  
And I both hate 
And admire myself for it.
And it dies a slow death
Within my bosom.
In the meantime,
I chant the mantra
In the hopes that it will take.