What is Left... a poem
What is Left
By Tony DeLorger © 2012
What is left,
when we mere mortals,
relinquish the will to overcome,
the capacity to survive,
and the courage to take life by the throat,
to squeeze ever last breath out of it.
We are then passive,
onlookers at best,
immersed in possibility without action,
reality without experience,
and delusion without qualm.
What is left of us,
without pain, joy and risk,
without dreams to drive the impossible,
without hopes to secure a future,
without love to nurture a thirsty soul.
We are then an empty shell,
a mechanism of habit,
a blind and weary traveller
on a straight and narrow path,
ever looking over our shoulder.
What are we in life,
a speck of light so unnoticed,
we are barely alive at all,
forever bleached by a harsh and constant sun,
in a world rigid and callous.
How sad we are in our negation,
our narrow-minded fear and paranoia,
hiding from ourselves,
treading water in an unrelenting sea,
a sea alive with possibility.
What is left of us when it's all over,
dust to dust, blood and fear,
when nothing has been,
nothing taken, nothing given,
just a black and white slide show of opportunity passed.
What are we but vessels of the infinite,
a blank and wordless book to write,
to fill with every second of heart and soul,
every moment of experience,
like a symphony to an angels ears.
We are everything, every purpose, every thought,
like a swirling world within worlds,
a macroscopic, microscopic extravaganza,
powerful but eloquent,
simple yet complex,
all resting on us, to do as we will.
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