It is its name
There is a thing in my life,
a thing I do not call by a true name.
Giving it recognition is undo cause
for it to raise its ugly head.
Admonition of its feral existence
removes the curtain of denial.
Coping with it requires refusal
a non acceptance of incisive struggle.
It has chosen the battle ground
my corpus its Flanders Fields.
I do not taste the poison of cordite
nor is the flesh torn by razor wire.
Yet it assaults me from within
a bellicose consuming conflagration.
We have this circumspect relationship
though it has definitive shape and place.
It does know its mindless meaning
but, I know what it is and – It is its name.
©2012, Donald Harbour
Donald Harbour Poetry 
“Admonition of its feral existence
removes the curtain of denial.”
I especially enjoy this portion….speaking of ego or maybe I read it wrong.
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Very circumspect indeed. I like “a thing I do not call by a true name”, thus the cop out in the end. I suspect, as always, it’s death.
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