Ego is a puppet of tomorrow, chasing phantom safety without end, trying to own what it can only borrow, not realizing its power is pretend. A creature who is real lives in the moment, navigating through experience, allowing feelings, so the mind stays open to take in facts and choose next acts with sense. It's not poor ego's fault it's so deluded. It's like a child in the wild alone: it needs a bigger mind to help and soothe it-- one who's real and now, not puppet-sewn. For those who grew in fear instead of care now must learn to care for fear still there.
In the notebook
I like this! Looks from your notebook like you didn't start out writing a sonnet--did the poem naturally lend itself to the form, or did you come back to it intending to use that structure?