The Blunt Front
The Blunt Front
By Tony DeLorger © 2014
At great risk I open the door,
to all that is me in light and shadow,
from the deepest secrets whispered in reflection,
to the brazen lies I've told myself,
all in the richness of language prostrate upon the page,
no erring to the brightness of light,
nor the tragedy of failure impassioned anger,
just delivered in raw, stark truth,
beckoned to surface from a mind intent on a righteous clarity,
and the surge of creative enlightenment.
It is no task for the wanting, this bleeding,
this cold giving of self and torment internal,
the fractious ranting of that inner voice screaming,
and the tug of wills, between reason and the intuitive gut,
ever ready to squabble over every inch and moment of being,
resolute in opening further that open door,
until I become unhinged within the scope of pain and endurance,
so at the surface I can become shallow of depth,
tortured beyond recompense and sanity in question,
when reality wanes in the light of all hope.
Yet in this quest of truth I am perturbed,
for all the games of mind within, creases, becomes superfluous,
and even I cannot hide from myself, not for a second,
and in that I fell great discomfort, and dishonour,
my imperfections written clearly on a board for all to see,
and I carrying the burden of them, their never-ending legacy,
of honing a character, bleached in truth,
down to the bone, the very core of being,
with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,
just the truth of me, in all my colours, from the stroke of a pen.
Truth can be a burden, but there is a freedom in transparency.
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