Tony DeLorger © 2016
How do I gain, what life withholds,
and how do I hold what life relinquishes,
pathways yearned and followed in faith,
hands outstretched and forward thought,
yet to be surrendered?
And what do I find, when grasping that longing found,
is it bliss or comfort for having won,
or is it a void of meaning,
all lost when acquired whole,
dreams given and journey’s end?
Life like waves to shore, beating time,
lapping to land’s edge,
one after another in endless rhyme,
and what of my hopes and dashed dreams,
given, taken, heart forsaken, what meaning can it hold?
Perhaps it is my mark, my expectation,
when there is to be none, just the undulations
of life’s movement,
so what then the measure of aspirations gift,
the path alone ensuing, being unfulfilled the rift.
Focus is my demon friend,
for on what does claim my spite,
if not the endings lost to unwanted dreams,
because I missed the plight, the travail
that reams me out to furnish this soul.
I see plainly, but focussed on the wrong things,
that labour of my journey, my defining,
and still I yearn for closure,
to find gold at the end of my rainbow,
I suppose I am but human, fumbled eyes and elbows.