The souls knows not what it seeks,
only that it does,
and the mind seeks the illusions of its calling,
the truth woven into wishes
Howling wolves attest the moon,
and words of solace
placate the disillusions we inspire,
by wanting more than is earned,
by a soul in growth.
How intrepid, the mind,
the wants so earnestly pursued,
often lost in intent, misunderstood in review,
and despite the pain,
the parlous paths of desperation, we survive.
Scars are the mantle of experience,
pain rendered in understanding,
and like a withered bloom,
beauty lost yet lingering in thought,
we assume our lives with stoic resolve.
The soul has no agenda,
just the openness to grow,
the courageous acceptance of change,
that rocks its foundations
to rearrange the misused paths of folly.
Despite myself I shall endure,
my obstacles a many, my subtle ruse
of wanting what I do not need,
and needing what I do not want,
my soul voracious in the feed.
Yet I learn, if not slowly, the cause
of my path and contradictions,
manifest in all I say and do,
and in written words I teach myself,
the manner of what’s taken, and bestowed.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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