Torn - a poem of solace
Torn
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.
Comments
AUTHORI appreciate that pochinuk. You have a great day.
Tony,
Thank you, I seek not to socialize either, and I appreciate what you said very much and:(Your number of 456 followers is good though.)
I will carry it with me as I continue to enjoy your poetry.
I can be comical, serious, and even down right honest in my replies, and questions when commenting on hubs, not to waste time, but sincerely enjoy those who are as you say of yourself:
"...This is who I am and what I do..."
So far, I have found success with this sincerity on my part and the part of
those whom I follow and follow me.
Again, I am glad for what you have now told me.
-pochinuk
- AUTHOR
My pochinuk friend, there is much within this brain that spews forth onto the page. I leave no stone un-turned and have always been completely honest. My words are truth in relation to myself; I am a pariah, I live a quiet life and write (this I believe is my purpose). I have suffered from clinical depression my whole life, and the struggle here is literal. What this disorder gives me is a path of self-realization that is fruitful in its gifts. My work therefore mirrors what I feel at any particular time, including dark thoughts and light observations. I don't have a great following on HubPages because of this, and because I am not here, nor have the time to be very social. I am a prolific writer, 13 published books and over 1000 pages of poetry in the last two years. This is who I am and what I do. This info may give you more of an insight into my work. Take care.
mm, I like this poem, and have read it four times now, once fast (1) then slower and slower (3-4).I
think I am getting part,
maybe some, perhaps all of
what your words are saying:
'…Pariah…"
"...but where I live is within, at the end of my pen,"
"...soaring in the freedom of expression…"
Never heard of the word pariah before; it
certainly compliments the life-flow of ink
in being able to write: Outcasted. One is
boundless with written expression.
Torn, tearing? creates holes.?
I get a message from this poem
that we can find consolation in writing.
Am I getting it? the pariah message here?
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