Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2014
Not in the object revered
But in the imperfect beholder
Glows the light of inspiration.

Through eyelids facing west
The auburn canvas spreads.
Smell of damp pine needles
Carried by the dry retreating winds.

Not in the balance, do I marvel,
But in the transience of the moment
That threatens to justly divide
The hours between light and dark.

For strife is the eternal essence of life,
Strength of my sinew,
As I relentlessly roll the boulder
And watch gravity undo my labour.

But, there is no strife more revolting
Than THIS.
Cleaving ā€˜Iā€™ from the rest
And assuming superiority -
An imperfect beholder.
Note 1 - This just division of light and dark (Equinox) is only a passing phase, an ephemeral balance. Had it been permanent life would have been too monotonous an experience. This futile battle of light and dark inspires me to look inside and contemplate my existence.

Note 2 ā€“ I extend Heraclitus's "Strife is justice" to "Strife is life". Physical life is a strife against the natural elements. But the act of conscious existence is the greatest and the most revolting strife of them all. Because this involves separating myself (I, that thinks)from the rest (matter in all its forms) and assuming the superior role of an intelligent observer.
Written by
DSD  27/M/Norman
Please log in to view and add comments on poems