By Tony DeLorger © 2012
Spite, the living curse against nature,
the spawn of all that is without love,
lives within the shadows of ignorance,
empowering the deluded self,
to inflict harm upon life.
It is like a latent seed within this shell,
this illusion of being we call consciousness,
with all its conclusions and understandings,
in the name of a justified right.
Each moment, each decision, each action
justified without kindness and consideration,
is less than meaningful within the natural world,
more a hindrance, an imbalance with consequence,
and the precursor to spite and vengeance.
We are but simply animals with a God complex,
forcing our will against balance,
to support feelings of superiority,
when in fact we are base and selfish creatures,
ignorant and without periphery.
Spite is testament to the frailty of our process of thought,
our ineptitude in sight beyond the self,
beyond the will to be better than, to overcome and to succeed,
not for the betterment of our kind,
but for the empowerment of the ego.
Spite is a dull and rusted blade,
thrust for the intention of pain and suffering,
not for a clean and speedy death,
it is without honour, without qualm,
an exacting and loveless act that diminishes humanity.
The only path to balance and awareness,
is through an open heart, a caring soul
and physical acts of kindness.
In spite are we truly lost.
More by this Author
A poem about the pleasures of the flesh.
Prose poetry about decisions and how we make them, accepting the consequences without choice. It expresses how we can decide for our own growth and understanding, and regardless of difficulty accept the needs of...
A poem about contention and the clashing of wills through being stubborn.
No comments yet.