By Tony DeLorger © 2014
I delude myself into thinking that pain and tragedy will not choose me,
and I shall rest on the laurels of those peaceful plateaus at rest,
the times I have to just live unencumbered, choosing freely my wants,
yet those times escape into the harsh light of reality with annoying regularity,
and once again struggle is served as the main course.
I am neither brave nor cowardly, facing what I must to survive,
but after all my experience I know that pendulum well,
that silence before the storm, that defiant foe of imbalance,
and I am thrown yet again into the fray, into the blood-letting,
and the stripping of flesh to the bone in this salvation of epiphany.
Those waves overwhelm me often, send me to grief and despair,
just the enormity of circumstance and the innumerable cracks in my inner shell,
telling me once again I must open wounds to pacify my transparency nature,
that idiosyncratic glitch in my armour from which truth must reign,
despite the collateral damage to my person and mental state.
How I wish I could separate that inner propensity from my will,
say no to this demon that drags me through the mud in my soul,
and makes me realise all that I have chosen no to,
and in that, enlightens me to vision and experience even more pain,
coming to terms with reality and the inequities within me.
Those waves come frequently, just when I have a grasp on my life,
and that in itself is a profound marker of perfect timing,
my illusions bound to be undone in a pragmatic way,
and I, regardless of comprehension, abide,
for I have not that control, to despise myself enough not to listen.
More by this Author
A poem about the pleasures of the flesh.
A poem about contention and the clashing of wills through being stubborn.
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...