If You Are Full of Yourself, You Cannot See Your Self

To philosophers, theologians and bookworms in general

You know what others have written.
You know what others have said.
I would be honestly smitten,
If it were really not sad.
Truth is slipping through your fingers.
Every moment seals the deal.
Pseudo-wisdom clouds and lingers,
Substitutes that which is real.
‘Say that I’m right! Approve of me!’
Self-image defends each guess.
Like a dead horse which cannot see
That cosmos could not care less.
If you are full of yourself to the brim,
Prospect of self-knowledge is rather grim.