Sweet Surrender

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  • Philosophy

    Sweet Surrender

    Sweet Surrender


    When I was a child wrapped snugly in the illusions of this world,
    In a tender passion to live and be heard,
    I stalked the day with an unquenchable curiosity,
    With prying hands and stuttered words.

    The world was not yet ready for the belligerence of this soul,
    With the will this stout heart possessed,
    Nor the energy that flowed through this feminine body,
    In its endlessly selfish quest.

    When the evening tide engulfed the awesome glitter of the day,
    And the shadows bid me sleep,
    A stubborn defiance filled my every cell and a fear that
    Urged me not inter into the deep,

    Slowly I relinquished my ego's hold on the elegance of the world,
    And the endless play of the pretender,
    Thus I armed my crafty little mind with reasoning,
    And my stammering lips with protests of surrender.

    As I grew in stature and was instructed in the wisdom's
    And the arts of this chaotic world,
    I often wondered at the games I found myself involved in,
    And the many dramas that unfurled.

    I choose my defenses with thoughtful deliberation,
    And my mask of indifference with unconscious care and prudence,
    Not understanding that the time would come when they would ask me
    For my will, to surrender my defense.

    Through the stormy years I carried my bag of tools and weapons,
    With childish delusions of safe voyage,
    And thus armored I stood stout against the frightening world,
    With fist tight and barely suppressed rage.

    At last life's trials and sorrows brought me to an honest evaluation,
    And the face of the pretender was unmasked.
    There burned a fire and longing, for the truth of my own being,
    A new curiosity of questions not yet asked.

    I realized how I had deprived my self through my own delusions,
    Of separateness from all life,
    I found that I my self had set my course and my stubborn will
    Had caused my constant strife
    And it was then that I heard the tender whispers of conviction,
    Calling me softly to remember,
    The joys of this life and the ecstasies of the soul,
    Are hidden within your sweet surrender

    February 8, 1994
    Bonnie Quisenberry

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    Drivingczar commented on Sweet Surrender

    03-17-2009

    Fantastic personal insight!

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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