What is this? - a poem.
What is this?
By Tony DeLorger © 2012
However did I choose this fate,
this mortal coil, this illusion of truth.
And what was I thinking,
to accept the journey of my reckless will,
my delusions of discovery,
and the justifications of my creative mind.
Am I but fodder for a God seed,
a potential deserving of growth and expansion,
a possibility that somehow eclipses all wrongdoing,
and aligns itself with a pure and perfect end.
What is this, this life,
this struggle with beauty and destruction,
this tantalising, pleasure-filled, self-emasculating experience,
wondrous yet painful, guilt-ridden yet empowering.
How much can I accept that I am whole,
when all else are fragments of possibility,
extremes of denial and ineptitude,
glimmers of hope, dashed by the arrogance of self.
Like a cork on a vast and angry ocean,
I float, clinging to the flotsam of ravaged life,
hoping I can become real in this endless dream,
this opportunity of being.
In stillness I accept my fate,
my blank and flawless canvas,
to find what I am, guide what I will be,
and accept imperfection as my teacher.
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