deliverance

To Live Deliberately

 To live deliberately,
is to be thyself.
You are the seeker--
not the follower.
The one who does not live in dread-
His soul is a satisfied one.
The one who misses the point,
is the hungry one.
But Alas!
Fate is not merciful—
for it has constructed many stop signs,
borders, and obstacles-
for him; although he never even-
signed a contract to life.
Yet! deep inside,
at the bottom of his soul
and state of mind
a new feeling is erupting.
He smiles; a witty grimace…
And so it did. Did as he pleased,
Oh, but he was punished
Dehumanized- beaten--
for his actions
They speak better than words.
Best of all, his soul was satisfied,
but others were not.
“You are not living by the rules,
Your behavior is sinful”.
They not only capture his body, but
his mind is in a prison cell-
Unable to scream the truth.
They do not want to listen
to this absurd man,
But little do they know
what the truth is.
The man suffers distraughtly.
He is gripped into a sudden agony of despair.
Alone in this world. In these four walls.
Oh fate! but why do you treat me this way!
They might imprison my body,
but never! will they capture my soul!

Suddenly, after long hours of cold isolation,
a ray of hope ignites his dark room
and enlightens his frantic mind—
He has a choice-yes yes he does!
He is not a prisoner of his own mind!
he is what he is. Let this man live!
And he escapes-leaves
far , far , far away from this mad world
and searches “Nowhere” to his
ideal society.
He wants to go home.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My teacher asked me what it means to me to live deliberately. This was my answer. What is your personal insight of this?

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Spins, sinister spinsters' splinters

Axis slightly askew,
the morning earth turns,
spins itself forward
to let the sun peep,
and then climb into
the houses and hopes
of those with houses and hopes.

A dim light beckons celestial rays.
They glimpse the early worm
as the bird begins its dive
axis slightly askew.

In a ritual almost universal,
dreams check their flight.
Resigned to awakening,
sleeping forms stir,
some to arousal,
others to break lonely wind
that no familiar nose will smell
but their own,
axis slightly askew.

Something shines. Tinged with crimson,
it recalls the colors of the day, slowly.
Slowly thoughts rediscover their sounds in words.
Men reinvent their substance from shadows
axis slightly askew.

The atheist wraps his uneasy belief,
in the certitude of lack,
the believer his lack of certitude,
in the certainty of his belief.
Poles that had collapsed, huddled
in the secret uncertainty of the night,
now spring apart-scornful, bristling,

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Dedicated to all those who spin with their axis slightly askew

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