Outreach

You can call me anything you want.
Whatever it is...
You will not find me flaunting it.

Like a medal of honor!

With ceremonious deeds attached.
I am not the kind to be attracted by that.
Or seek a freshness leaking from stagnation.

There is a stench of redundancy about it.
Like the gnawing on a bone done...
By someone who has finished the meat!

Nor will you find me,
Polishing up awards.
In or out of opened or shut doors,
Of those rare opportunities.
I am learning more to be relaxed behind them!
And devoted to the silence.

Or giving my attention...
To hollow accusations.
Terrified when suddenly...
Testimonials are given,
And accolades are made.
For me?

'Hey...
Some are more accustomed,
To the accusations!
Where are they?
I am strangely disappointed.'

My method used for withdrawal...
Isn't one I would suggest.

There is more to this Earth,
And its connection to the Moon, Sun and Stars...
I find occupying most of my time.
Regardless of where your mind may be,
Or who or where you are!

Since I am constantly on the search,
To outreach from that need...purposely!
And you...
Will find some reason to benefit.
As always!

The teaching of thieves,
Is inherited.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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