By Tony DeLorger © 2012
Indeterminate, the quandaries in my mind,
levelled squarely to be judged and marked out in time,
yet that static dialogue imprisons all that can be,
by limiting possibility and a soul pleading free.
Doubts and questions like cold pounding hail,
corrupting with bitterness the smooth flow of ideas,
impressions of harm so deep to appease,
and fill in the void with darkness and tears.
With each shallow breath and thoughts given flight,
accompanied by hope and ascendancy in plight,
always driven and pushed to fight stagnant rest,
and aspire to the dark will of gain and success.
Yet when thinking like bullets pinging harsh in my head,
delivers a headache, no sense can it shed,
I wonder how a carriage of life can be sound,
when the backdrop is laden and past voices resound.
It is hard to be open to this endless tirade,
the fragments of thoughts like a jagged parade,
cutting flesh deeply when love struggles to emerge,
to placate the ravaged and soothe all the purged.
In life we are given perceptions to mold,
to grasp understanding and the responsibility we hold,
but often in action we lose sight of the goal,
overwhelmed by the nature of our choice-ridden souls.
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