The Drone of Distant Explosions
In conflict, pain,
in ambivalence I complain
and in revenge I am restrained,
to obtain some control
of erratic thoughts and spiteful rorts
with which I’ve been exposed,
opposed to all my paradigms,
they itch like hives
and I in frustration’s bounds,
where is that poison ivy,
that bane of my existence?
Lessons learned, reprieve earned,
yet still at the periphery,
conflict’s hooked nose, butting in
where its not supposed to be,
and I cannot escape the malevolence
of lesser beings,
in emerald avarice, deranged
with serpent’s tongue avenge
their own perceived losses,
while I in sad refrain,
regret their insanity.
How many steps apart must we be,
when by hook or crook, they reach
my simplicity and muddy the playing field,
use others to seal their blows,
and who know what they say
all at my expense,
drenched in the solicitude s of false words,
while inserting the knife
in my ample back,
till blood oozes to the ground,
to fuse with the grit of a weak resound.
A lover not a fighter,
my sense of justice brought to bear,
I consider a war but quickly rescind,
for that loses everything,
in my life and what I have achieved,
not worth a single response,
for those who see me foe,
just better to let it go
and remain at peace,
even though their soldiers in line,
clattering shields, and me, never arrived.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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For all eternity, a lover not a fighter is the best to be, though fighters are all around us, all over the world. Very well and strongly expressed work, Tony. Great, indeed. Take care dear poet.
So pleased you appreciated the work Phyllis, take care dear friend.