Deliver me far from reason,
for it does me no favors,
when answers sought are far from logic’s curse,
and what heart interprets deserts my humble thoughts,
to fall to my doubts, my incessant bouts
Why does this mind plague me so,
just enough intellect to question,
not enough to quench my thirst,
as introspection drowns in shallow pools of hope,
perhaps beyond scope, of my persistent dreams,
my insistent schemes of knowing?
So who do I forge my path to be,
if not myself, who else,
when discovery is all the need, indeed,
my shadow cast from this of me, myself,
and what steps can bring me closer to who I am,
when I remain still, casting shadows?
My trail is lost, my travail a circle
as I pass the same points over,
and still the shadow follows me,
the sun my ecliptic centre;
and so if I sit, will I cease to be,
not moving, seeing worlds around
from one point only, in 360 degrees?
Sleep my only friend, of respite,
my true stayed repose to hold,
for conscious I
of every tick and pause in time,
and questions in profusion,
seem never to leave my weary mind.
Tony DeLorger © 2016