I am a human -


cast from the garden

and tempest-tossed -

tossed by tempests born

of gods and men -

blinded by unrealities,

thrown roundabout by details

and reborn with each passing day -

while blinded I see,

utterly confused,

and no fire from within

consumes me -

dependent and independent,

free, yet caged without bars,

tormented by hypocrises

held fast in thoughtless devotion -

ready for the next stage

and stymied at the starting gate,

advancing and retreating

in a haze,

denying still realities

that pass through my eyes

every day -

and perhaps

I do not answer

my own cry for change

because this is how

I was meant

to be -

roiling under the surface,

collected on the outside

and permitting all

the movements in between.

A human am I,

this world is my world,

and all the pieces of me

that slip away and return

have their place with my eyes

and without them -

these many visions of life

hold forth their depths

and grant no easy sight.

I keep my life

and all it means -

its convolutions,

revolutions and evolutions -

but all I own of it

is what I can keep

in mind.

With such exclusion,

only chance's exertions

hold out hope for me.

I will see something

not of mine

that will be worth receiving..

let it come as it will.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I guess this has evolved into something of a convolution self-analysis and a worldview of sorts... it started as a scribble - an endearing scribble - and became this thing that I'm putting up here.

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Athalia Lystra's picture

To say that I am impressed would be an utter understatement. This looks just like something I’d write, only much more profound than I have yet mastered to make writing. There’s plenty here that one could analyze and say things about. However, seeing as what my toughest critics tell me (among which I am as well) your lack of specificity would be the only thing keeping this masterpiece out of school anthologies.
I lend you praise!