More Poetry for the Converted
More Poetry for the Converted
By Tony DeLorger © 2011
Those who know my hubs will understand my relentless relationship with poetic expression. For me it is the expression of my soul; words that began deep inside me and with time have risen to find paper. The following are poems that vary in age but are connected though subject matter. Again, different styles and methods of expression but I hope you enjoy them.
By Tony DeLorger © (1980’s)
Our love is like a river, from mountain down to pass,
From raging torrent rapids, to rocky brooks and glass.
And we like pebbles twist and turn, beneath its bubbled crust,
And join the essence of the flow, to search for calm at last.
But should we stop that flowing, and ponder where we are,
Like pebbles we will surely sink, and remain ‘til swept once more.
For love, just like the water’s run, is freedom in its care,
And we poor fools that follow not, find only deep despair.
But give your all, flow with the tide, accept and do not tire,
And you shall have the answer to, all that you desire.
For rivers empty into seas, of calm and gentle peace,
Where pebbles smooth from torrents past, do dwell in sweet release.
The Pursuit of Truth
By Tony DeLorger (16/08/06)
Within the delicate folds of abstraction,
Lay answers to our questioning.
Like furtive glances they lay in waiting,
Should we be astute enough to catch their illusory appearance.
Evidence external is our pursuit,
Unwilling to accept the truth within,
The shell over which we preserve our self-beliefs and place.
The precarious positions in which we place ourselves,
We are unable to relent.
Instead we read all things from that perspective, bias and ignoble.
Balancing our motives and steps within this ignorance of self.
Answers shall always be one step from consciousness,
Opened only be the will to let go of ego.
If only we could be as honest with ourselves as we demand of others,
The world would be a different place.
By Tony DeLorger (20/09/06)
Beyond the gruelling tempo of life’s constant beat,
A sanctuary lies beckoning, layed out at our feet.
The choice of a quiet mind can allay all our fears,
A decision of consequence, to cease anger and tears.
It is we, who create that eternal, incessant knell,
To commend our lost souls to a living dead hell.
When first we should remember our reason for breath,
And let spinning and frantic worlds render their death.
To be Human
By Tony DeLorger (21/09/06)
Tragic worlds are woven with silk,
Designed of great beauty, resplendent of ilk.
Intricate plans and ironic sub-plots,
The paths of our lives are fraught with job lots.
In quicksand we struggle our tragic choice made,
The silken threads tighten our fears never to fade.
The beauteous downfall, perfection in kind,
Our masochistic intentions afflicted of mind.
Though tragedy yields to a far greater foe,
So few of us see it, too constricted to know.
Also woven of silk is the chattels of love,
With radiant colours, as pure as the dove.
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