Torn - a poem of solace
By Tony DeLorger © 2014
Inevitably torn between what I feel I should,
and what I can muster, is a constant struggle,
a grinding, excruciating internal dilemma,
exhausting, and debilitating.
Not morality but procrastination,
like an iron door too heavy to open,
haunts my waking hours,
disarming my forward steps with an avaricious pleasure,
as if this demon foe profited from my stagnation.
I can but take small steps in one single direction,
blinkered by my inability to push life forward too fast,
to attain too much, be granted too much,
and in that the frustration of a blunt razor,
the inner purgatory I know so well.
Pariah by choice, unable to swallow a broad life,
I can but maintain a facet at a time,
a mere scratching at the surface of physical life,
but where I live is within, at the end of my pen,
where all struggles end and freedom lives eternal.
Here in my minds eye life is but a play,
and I, having written all the characters,
immerse myself in the ensuing plots,
with all the twists and turns of injustice and recompense.
Here in my world, I am king,
no oppression or limitations abound,
just the freedom of thought and circumstance
that a mind can imbibe and rest fulfilled,
in the serenity of a world within a world.
Forever torn I shall be, with the ways of man,
the pursuits of wealth, status and power,
when I at the periphery observe the failing sun,
and I hold tightly within my thoughts, all that matters,
none of which live in the physical.
I am alone, rejected, a pariah in real terms,
connected to few but known to many,
lost to the demands of physical life,
yet soaring in the freedom of expression,
where beauty transcends the ugly truths of human life.
I cannot be anything other than what I am. I can pretend, mirror and project, but in the end I betray myself by dishonesty and dis-empower my destiny.