By Tony DeLorger © 2014
Who brings me this dissent, this fractious will,
that stares unflinchingly into my dark window,
shadow laden and malevolent,
clawing at my girth, like a mutt begging for attention.
Who will have me placated in the sigh of compromise,
willing to submit to the fancy of my oppressors,
and my will thwarted in cold blood,
with no fight, no word of refusal.
Dream I say dark friend, shadow creeper,
not I, lay down and die for your favour,
your implicit strength but a puffed up illusion,
and I fixed more so for the seeing of it.
It is not my will that must ensue for my restful heart,
but the fall of such as you, the would be oppressor,
the heartless feigner of souls, of righteous intent,
who in plain sight begs forgiveness, but apologises not.
For these figures lurk in human form,
and press our will from the shadows of hallowed halls,
disseminating the propaganda of cold, sharp words,
designed to take away what we are at core.
I lift not my head in acknowledgement,
I lift my hand in disapproval, to spite them,
those who will pull me down for their gain
and lay waste to my aspirations, free from tyranny.
Who indeed delivers this whisper of unfavourable view,
delivered from the gaping mouth of a lion,
in solidarity of wills bent on the compliance of souls as I,
meek and subservient to the expectations of them.
Oh, I tire of the brazen agendas of my oppressors,
devout in purpose, cruel in design and lethal in action,
ever changing the reality of truth with lies,
ever casting doubt over potential and lost to their own narcissistic plans.
Be gone you pariahs of the dark spaces,
you careless beings of compassion-less harm,
pushing me with all those tentacles,
come reveal yourselves and put to rest my waning moments.
Within all of life's pressures and the attempts to quash your own aspirations, there must be a passive resistance, gained through a quiet mind and an open heart. Never give up on yourself.
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