When I was young, and innocent,
I had a solipsistic bent;
There was no way that I could see
The world as real, outside of me.
I liked to think Rene Descartes
Had put the horse before the cart;
"I think, therefore I am," he said,
And from that point, my thoughts all led.
The world itself could have no place,
Unless a mirror showed my face;
A different sight would be perverse,
Inside my private universe.
There were no "us," no "them," no "you,"
No consequences to construe,
No consciousness of woe, or pain,
No thoughts of others to retain.
The solipsistic stance I had
Proclaimed all other views were bad,
But selfishness is not the way,
Despite what narcissists may say.