I cut myself to just fool the Pain.
Sometimes I doubt if I’m Insane.
Thoughtless ranting, constant recanting of showers of Shame.
Twinning. Mirroring. No Id. No Ego. Just a fluttering flame.
So I turn, I turn again straight.
Run from my life of Hate.
Steering towards a path of security a bit too late:
Though this way is better than a Life Lived innate.
Frightful Changes of long lived actions.
I obsess on certain mistakes, living life in fractions.
My Life is a revolving door – A psyche fragile like plaster.
My Shame is my only Master:
I run toward my endless Disaster.
The Warrior’s Path
Why do all Good things come to an End?
My Boundaries I must Defend.
Show me the Warrior’s Path.
I want to get There fast.
Where do I find the Destination?
Brings me There through Contemplation.
All who Wander are not Lost.
Where is the Sacrifice? What is the Cost?
The Journey is the Destination.
Humility is your Reservation.
Go forth and choose your Trail!
With Spirit as your Guide, you cannot Fail.
Petrarchan Sonnet #1
They say that poetry isn’t work,
But they forgot the artist called Joel,
Who writes like a mole
Buried in words that lurk.
But don’t despair the murk.
It is a whole
Of fun enough for a Turk.
So you say
That the might
Of words are eyes
That find a way
To blind your sight,
And free your ties.
by David Leitner PhD