Desertion
by Odin Roark

Some claim to know deserted,
sensing it like a desert island,
abandoned,
desolate,
empty.

Yet, one's inner-mirror cannot lie.

Reflection displays
but a single island
in life's stream of many
floatations uniquely surrounded
by time's cyclic expanse,
humanity's ebb and tide,
the grooming of a shoreline,
testing its last defense,
then embracing its rocky shore with tenderness.

Rising above these remnants now at peace,
its summit,
this mountain peak
jutting skyward from its groundswell of froth and spray,
vibrating beside swaying choruses,
a symphony’s palm fronds in continuous harmony,
shadow-dancing on sands of survival
beside Nature’s endless movements of love,
some feel alienated, not knowing it is merely
a segueing of aloneness into oneness.

Resolve patiently waits.

As the self continues building endless shelters of endurance,
wanting to welcome sunrise and sunset,
even as storms of corrupted air
bring wayward conquerors
through the fog,
takers of innocence,
abusers of loneliness,
ready to trample upon friendly greeting,
claiming
what is found
is theirs to possess.

How patient this oneness, this place of buried strength
some deem as desertion,
while others embrace as a sanctuary of peace,
longing for neither escape,
nor further discovery,
where the self is able to stand atop
life's Mount Everest with exhaustive gratitude,
accepting the freedom to plant a flag,
marvel at tenacity’s achievement
and passion’s focus over doubt,
knowing such a special centeredness,
is merely part of self-realization’s undying patience.