- Books, Literature, and Writing»
- Poems & Poetry
By Tony DeLorger © 2011
Quintessentially drawn to trite conclusions,
my superficial self wades through the clod mire of human thought,
inevitably confused and tossed like a straw in a gale.
Overwhelmed and battered I see nothing through the torment of human strife,
just the bleeding hearts of strewn casualties.
Victims wander the streets like zombies, detached and unplugged,
aimless shells of hollowed beings lost to their own ineptitude.
Lessons fall on deaf ears, learning too far from suffering’s mind,
alive with intent and self-loathing.
I am witness and too have fallen to this weakness state,
contrived of pity and the will of loss.
But in the end survival requires the courage of a fearless mind,
a resilient acceptance that there is nothing to lose in life,
only what is not taken up when offered.
I know that pain is a reminder of our vulnerability,
our humanity and our potential to overcome.
Strife is the illustration of standing the wrong way in a one-way street,
the passage of learning the difference between want and need.
I know that love is the source, the goal and the outcome of learning,
a given purpose that defines us beyond the periphery of understanding,
and dismisses contention as a fake and banal mistress.
I know that being is enough, without the will of achievement,
without the drive to become something we are already,
discovery a more apt expression of validation.
What I see is often devastating and to me, without purpose,
but I now know that nothing is without purpose,
simply vague in appearance, lost to the complexity of self-imposition.
Wounds become the scars of understanding,
the presence of mind to accept the mayhem as just another deliverance.
I know now that quietness of mind is the saviour of confusion,
the balance of sight and what there is to see.
I know that within my core exist the answers,
embedded in me as surely as I exist.
Whatever happens around me is simply the enacting of unfolding life,
however it appears, however it is judged,
it is by my hand that association is chosen.
It is by my hand that it exists at all.