TO TODAY

We sink each into ourselves
Endlessly searching
For the meaning unaccounted
Of our plain, yet profound existence.

The staying power, the force
To homeward drive temptation of my will,
Which as it might try,
The strength of mere petty man
Allows not fulfilment
Nor further accomplishment.

A break of thoughts; the weakness
Of a mind to search and seek
Its consistency of adherence,
To attach itself to greater things,
Or those little aspects
Of human existence which we in ourselves
And our minds concieve as greater
Or merely wish a greater illusion.
The lie of which to ourselves we be
Not unaware.

A bed of comfortable sheets I see
Facing me, begging my weakness, grown tiredness
To heed its comfort lurings,
To sleep, if only my mind,
And as a devil bid the worker
From his will,
The same to me my vision tries
In sweet, dark, but softly pink
And tempting lies.
The human mind so vunerable.



Poetry by vidura rambachan
Read 578 times
Written on 2009-11-08 at 12:38

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