A strange eventuality,
This life of surreality:
To be engrossed
In thought or ghost
Engulfed by each totality

For precious things that disappear,
For wool that grows to see the shear,
The blight that thrives,
The mind that hives,
The many equals without peer

And odd strand of our filament,
Now clothed in new habiliment:
The brain will seize,
The last thought flees,
Events that have no incident

For precious lives we lose in war,
For sleepers, dreaming still, for more —
As day find day
And players play
This timeless game that keeps no score

We stand upon the precipice,
The open mouth of the abyss —
The anchoring
Of sanctioning
To little more than only this:

A life of whim, directionless,
Of seeking for connectedness:
The reach for air,
The no one there,
Alone, afraid,

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

One thought on “Affectionless”

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