I find myself transfixed
by the profanely erudite views of Libertines
who claim the patronage of intellect,
yet display the fallen grace
of petulant fools.
I cannot fathom their muse,
that wholly instill their minds with fateful lies,
to compromise any reasonable affront,
in questioning their twisted values,
pompously attached to reason.
Surely a soul of any weight
cannot relate a hedonistic view of life,
as if there were no more,
and thought just an encumbrance
to ratify the strife of gleaned experience.
I am caught between wonder and disdain,
for all they claim in cynical rejection,
and adhere to pleasured interaction
as the saving grace of life,
all else a pointless plight.
For me the need for pleasured comfort
is the abandonment of potential,
throne just to satisfy an itch,
a surface scratch to being,
and an indolent and fruitless existence.
What more can a narrow mind uphold,
if not the superficial,
the trite and laden strife of frivolous deeds,
no effect or possibility enticed,
just a chosen swim in the cesspool of life.
For did we not rise from that pool,
amoeba of simple plight,
at least open to evolution’s penchant for survival,
a step up from the quagmire,
yet some wish to remain, soulless,
against the grain of life.
Tony DeLorger © 2017