What I don't Admit
What I Don't Admit
By Tony DeLorger © 2012
Enraptured by my words of steel,
on solid ground when senses real,
when hearts do ache from truth withheld,
denial bent with lies to sell.
And me all sound within my head,
spurt forth the drone of relics dead,
unlearned in veiled pretentious right,
grasping for illusive light.
Pretence a coat I ware quite well,
its warmth a foolish acrid smell,
from rotting thoughts and lazy mind,
aloof and petty quandary rhyme.
Worse still the fact that I recant,
this knowledge worn in all I am,
and still I play my silly game,
my human plight a world to tame.
What works in life is often trite,
and I my illusive butterfly,
push hard to see what can I break,
and left what I can handle, take.
Illusions grow from seeds that glow,
and in their radiant beams I go,
envisaged worlds where love does reign,
and all my shit a sweet refrain.
Madness for all its departure makes,
sanity seem so loathed to take,
the front seat of my conscious will,
to drive me to my destined ill.
For life is hard and struggle fair,
and we the victims of despair,
that fall from grace and happy life,
by denying a smile when pain is rife.
And pretending pain is less than real,
is a fools game in fear reveal,
acceptance always the open door,
where light in waiting can bathe, restore.
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