Poem | |
I never cease to ponder at the turmoil in my life
Though I feel my soul is peaceful it is manifest in strife
While the strife is all internal 'neath a self content facade
Turmoil rises in the absence of at-one-ment with my God
Is it merely my perception? Am I resisting taking heed?
Should this life be one of resting, or is it strife I need?
It should be a simple matter to find the purpose of this life
Is it growth I need from striving or is it rest I need from strife?
Is it focused introspection, is it altruistic love?
Is it spiritual reflection, or is it all of the above?
For sure it’s more than economic, yet while that’s necessary too
Is it our souls’ evolution that makes it all worthwhile to do.
I can see no point in living just to pass another day
I must have something more worth giving, than just to pay my way.
It would be so much the simpler if a man could know for sure
What his purpose is for living, his evolvement to procure.
Will my purpose well within me? Could a vision not appear?
And suggest a clear direction to pursue while I am here.
I’m so tired of treading water, putting time in ‘till I die
There must be something more constructive waiting for me by and by
I have fancied other options but none have succored to my taste
Yet to continue what I’m doing simply put, seems like a waste
So it seems the only option is to carry on and wait
And resolve that when I’m called on I will not hesitate
I have learned of soul eternal, on an endless ageless quest
Taking various forms and bodies, each to serve its purpose best
With each lifetime experience and with every lesson learned
It’s one step closer to perfection that the growing soul has earned
For it’s purpose is advancement, and to not be left behind
In it’s struggle for ascension to God, the universal mind
I have friends who understand me, superficially at least
I have others who are certain I have succumbed to the beast.
I have family who despise me as a traitor to the faith
Very quick to, criticize me and condemn me as "off base"
I have learned I must not judge them, t’would be a travesty indeed
For they are only doing what ‘ere it is that their souls need.
In the meantime, I’m impatient, that my calling has not come
It’s quite clear that I’m not ready, sufficient learning’s not been done.
The problem’s not with others, nor need they change for me
The work must all be done within me for my soul to be set free
Poem | |
And when will the tides turn against confident indifference?!
When will humanity cease
To throw cats against curiosity’s silver coated dagger
Another played out song
Another dramatic lyric
Shifting embellished overtones
With deteriorating tact
They spit posthumous awakenings
As divinity laced smiles, wither under a convoluted moon
Shedding retina waterfalls
Pretentious anger becomes Aphrodite mediocrity
Wisdom, they never “put out”
Become self-important struts within olive tinted reckonings
Stirring hornets’ nest
They dream for better days
While double-knotting gang colored bandanas
On eagle’s achromatic foreheads
Another Woody Woodpecker band-aid pulled from condescending hypocrisies
And when will the tides turn against pilot light’s mal-intent?
When will the flinty sheep
Stop wondering how these charring, orange fires began
Forgetting the 115 octane gasoline can
They hold quietly in their hands
©Drake J. Eszes
Poem | |
It seems I always
against the current.
of conflicting contradictions
and unsweetened scripts
at odds with others
in deeds and words
a emotional dissonance
played out over a lifetime.
banged and buffered hard
against the onflow;
prevailing opposites rush
to assail my efforts
intent on wearing me down
scraping, scarring, challenging
calling me out with
harsh ridicule and doubt
why must I cause stirred sediments
to muddy, blind and bewilder me
blurring reason so that
what is seen as truth
often becomes mixed
with drama and ambivalence?
how righteous is the direction
of this timeless stream?
shall I swim with it or against it?
go one way or the other;
does it really matter?
I cannot give up
I cannot relent...
this is who I am
a person searching
for kindred spirits
to swim backward
against the current.
to find some direction,
some marker that guides
this hurrier to a another plane
of purposeful existence.
I think most people at some time are contrarian.
Some from the start; others in their teens.
Some all through their life.
I can't remember being otherwise.
In retrospect, am I really that different
or do I use it an excuse
to be noticed? Perhaps both.
Poem | |
What is life?
Euphonies, cacophonies and chromosomal anomalies
intertangled destinies and illusive methodologies
Occurring in obscure dimensionless time
Millenniums fertilized to create the sublime
Perceived by ideations so pure it would seem
To exist beyond mind and to all in between.
Lingering as lore to an all distant past
There is no redo, there is no redraft.
The questions, the answers so rightly proclaimed
are composed and transported by thoughts still unnamed.
In limited struggle, the moments unspent
Become the result of a living lament.
In what and wherefore and why and with whom
we unwrap our existence in this paradoxical womb
Can we find meaning, a clear sign that we see
inclusive to all, this existential decree.
From naught made of all and conceived in a star,
we landed on earth, neither near nor afar
For reasons unknown and telegnosis unclear,
These salient projections are all jockeyed by fear
We stand in the way of unknowing surmise
And find the world is still much a surprise.
A quest overwhelming in distressed sanity
For answers not known play havoc to vanity.
To end these remarks with a questionable phrase
all becomes known in 'one of these days.'
From the moment of birth to when we die, life presents us with dilemmas and questions that amuse, titillate and confuse us. As we get older, we realize that what we thought we knew was all pure conjecture. This poem is meant to reflect the myriad of disjointed thoughts that have run through my mind throughout the years. The "why me?" and "what is my purpose in life?" questions usually are met with ambiguity and incoherence.
Many of us are beleaguered with these conceits and although some find solace in religion, for people like me it becomes an existential never ending struggle.
Poem | |
Her sad eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings;
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me.
She turned her face toward me with a pained look begging for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within for this pitiful tangled haired waif.
Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body.
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life.
The one thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never again be.
While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears,
still I desired to sympathize... whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK".
I lied, knowing it wouldn't. Besides what could I do with so little to give.
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.
I awoke with a start, shuddering, deeply disturbed and troubled to tears.
Sometimes the vivid images, like a horror movie returning to haunt me,
make me question, "Who is that wretched child so forlorn and dejected?
The memories shake my very soul, the hidden message still eluding me.
Poem | |
I had an unusual reaction to opening my fridge today
Two cardboard boxes from a long ago memory stood in my way
And I found suddenly I no longer had the appitite to eat
And with the palapating of my heart came the quickening of my feet
And I - without thought - decided to hide from my past today
Bruised knuckles and silent tears
Even sunlit pictures are filled with hidden fears
And a symbol or a number or a song or a smell
Takes me by the eyes and drags me back into that hell
And no memory is left to be sweet
Every thought leaves me trembling at his feet
I hurry to leave the heart throbbing sight
The trigger following me into the height
Of my paradoxal panic - that leaves me senseless
And the memories flow of the nights I lay defenseless
Two cardboard boxes stood in my way
Active PTSD can transform a whole day.
Poem | |
Emotions of addiction
pulling so seductively
like a long lost love
whispering my name
over and over
until its all I hear
yearning rumbles deep down
burning as it rises
like bile in my throat
So conniving in its game
of love and hate
like peek a boo with a child
frightening when it is revealed
turn and run they say
where shall I go
the only recourse is to stay
as it tries to tear
to wear me down
He calls to me
i answer and somehow
i have won
a new day is here
exhausted and confused
howling growling in the distance
addiction pulls back
waiting patiently so patiently
to take me back to hell
Poem | |
Closer and closer to the vortex
I spin wildly, madly
So out of control
Body and soul
Clutching at anything and everything
Knowing I’m being suctioned
My breathing quickens
My pulse thickens
My body weakens
The vortex draws me nearer
to its core
It pulls me down
It sucks me in
I’m being devoured
Swallowed up whole
In the vortex
Of your desire
~ h ~
T ~ ~ e
Poem | |
Before the abyss, I had it all
Letting go of all I see
My friend, I hope our time won't end
It took a short time for you to notice
Without knowing who I am
We talked, we became friends
Connecting the dots, missing every line
Connect them and figure me out
Randomly it comes your way
Underneath a never known chemistry
Ask me to stay and I may
Grinding your teeth into my way
Cut out my eyes, and store them up
A tongueless mouth, nothing to say
Maybe by tomorrow you will forget
Losing myself in my own conversation
Hiding behind my one big regret
Don't know, Don't care
You had me open up
A book I closed, knowledge lost
No need to see
A mystery called deception
What I am cannot be seen with the naked eye
Along came you using your *ucked* up perception
The ability you miss use
making sense of this connection
A process you carry with your own patterns
You asked, you listened, without making assumptions
A taste to take off my shoulders,
To release an error locked in my Asylum
I myself am enjoying the insights about him
He's got me convince, using his perception
Poem | |
I used to live beside the sea
It was not long ago
A footpath went along the beach
One could walk, and watch the show
As the ocean played its song of love
And the seagulls made much din
It was a lovely place to go
As each day, it did begin.
I loved it in the morning times
When the moon was big and round
It seemed to rest upon horizon
Such joy I often found
Admiring me, this yellow orb
That seemed so very huge
And as I’d walk, within my dreams
I’d often take refuge.
Sometimes I'd walk there, evenings too
And watch the sun go down
As the sky would turn to marmalade
And it seemed this Sphere would drown
As the ocean swallowed it all up
And the night came creeping in
And seagulls sang there evening songs
How I loved their noisy din.
There’s something about the mighty ocean
That makes me want to write
The seaweed and the salty breeze
Give me such sweet delight
I love the rivers, love the lakes
And yet the wild, wild sea
It has a treasure of it’s own
That just calls out to me.
5 November 2013 @ 0950hrs.