Ignoble the chariots of ill-intent,
thunderous rampaging through mind and soul,
as if in pursuit of a heart the trophy of the kill,
removed still pumping,
as the warrior faces with allegiant code
his most honored adversary, the self.
How brutal the intentions,
how self-serving that inner voice taunting,
to know that this voice must meet its end,
for truth it espouses so freely,
cannot purge the souls heeding,
its truth so offends a chosen life.
Denial a must in retribution,
no words to quell some lofty paradigm,
just a quick incision and removal is all it takes,
to forsake this voice this soulful ache,
that so trespasses on my mirrored reflection,
a connection I do not need.
So the chariots are unleashed,
spears and shields and swords to reach
this recalcitrant vocal impostor,
a storm of such force and honor,
to silence this vile truth-sayer,
the suggestion of imperfection so redressed.
On a field of dust and stone,
we fight ourselves to determine wrong,
the inner voice with truths flying,
cut down too soon my secrets dying,
as I content with myself, the knell of metal clashing,
to decide my status quo.
Who will win this epic battle,
this none too subtle gore and blood affray,
the whispered truths of a soul learning,
against the resistant will of change discerning,
under a blue sky eternity,
one to stand, the other fall.
Were that voice to win,
the sins of my delusions burning,
and face I must the truth and put this battle behind,
or do I stay in blissful ignorance,
all for a blade and a blood soaked floor
that offers no more than a stubborn, stagnancy.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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