This...'thing' Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Mysterious.
And too attractive to void.
This...'thing'.
We as writers and poets share.
Leads us right into the bush of life.
Not to beat around it.
Or run from it until it's out of sight.
This 'thing' may have thorns.
To prick and sting.
But exposing to what is showed,
For many of us means everything.

Some choose to hop scotch over,
That stuff perceived may offend.
But those adventurous,
Feel they must...
Bring out in the open to declare,
What has been confined to discover...
May have caused those to accept,
Their druthers limited to agonies suffered.

This...'thing'.
Writers and poets together share.
Is not an attempt to keep minds unaware.
Or begin division.
But instead broaden those with kept,
Narrowed vision and shadowed views.
And that 'thing' that exists within us,
Many of us can not refuse.
Even if refusing was choice to choose.
This...'thing' is unavoidable.
This 'thing' we have demands,
It had been given to us to be used.
Regardless of who or what it is,
Believes we are here loving...
The abuse coming from those on paths,
Seeking delusion.
With hopes to make that truth.

"Hey!
Take a look at this.
This stuff hidden from us to avoid.
I bet this is the reason,
So many are sick and annoyed.
Let's bring it out in the open.
Others should also notice this.
I am willing to bet my life on it,
If this is done...
An end will come to conflicts and havoc.
And happier will be everyone."

Oh!
So naive can this...'thing' be.
In such confusing and mind 'fixed' times.
Although,
This...'thing'.
Whatever it is to be called to name.
Has purpose.
Meaning.
And essential.
However,
Its potential may be lost.
To prolong outdated debates.