Bounded by boarders

“My God,” cried the supplicant,
expressing belief in extremity,
that token labium of the metaphysical.
We are all the hoarders of borders,
living on imagined deckle-edged paper,
there writing our circumscribed lives.
Each defining the selvage of our fears,
consternation of woven limitations, we are
fettered by a bête noire tenant of the soul.
At times, others handcuff us to a purlieus bed,
accepting, seeking release from dragging our yokes,
then, refusing to master the pale of our requiem.
Lives lived in containment, shackled by convergence,
never venturing into the freedom of self, never
bounding past our own hobbling erosive manacles.
They are meant to contain, they are control,
the pestilence of living that defines what we become.
When the lights go out we are each confined,
bound by dirt, plastic, wood, or brass jar,
that is the environ of our material existence,
rest, peace within a packaged repository.
We do not realize there is no caracole,
only in life ending release of the energy within,
will we understand its limitlessness, and the
boundless freedom of being one with creation.

©2012, Donald Harbour

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3 thoughts on “Bounded by boarders

  1. very nicely done…i like your view and thoughts philosophically on the borders…and like that ending of joining with creation as well…sorry you missed the linky on saturday but we have OpenLinkNight going on right now and you are free to tag this in on that linky so some people can come over and read…

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  2. A mine of mental ore here–lots of great constructions as you explore the unnatural borders with which we define but also limit, and the natural one we have no choice but to cross someday–favorite phrase here is “…the pale of our requiem.” Just lovely.

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  3. the expression of our thoughts somehow release the fetters of our imagination… cuffed, locked and loaded… i really loved reading each line…

    Like

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