The bits of ugliness that dot our ways
Sometimes connect us to the ones we love;
Through each new clime and season, every phase,
They’re there nearby: around, along, above —

Unsightliness is something we accept
To know we’ll be connected, in the end,
For love’s the thing. The rest is simply kept
Because it joins us to our kin, or friend.

And soon, we do not even see the poles
Or lines that crisscross everyplace we go;
But hold connections to our very souls
The voices of the ones we love, and know —

  But though all this connecting is ad rem,
  It can’t bring them to us, or us to them.


(“Poles” – 3-26-2017)

Author: Owen Servant

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

4 thoughts on “Poles”

  1. I’ve got to lift up the paint brush and get some time in. It’s irksome when a poet can whip off a sonnet a day and i can’t even express one thought in paint. But here’s the feeling: all the devices in the world can’t undo its social complexities and we are left its victims. Eating from the tree of knowledge wasn’t such a clever idea. Traditions, taboos, social conventions, laws and regulations, support and suppress our very humanness. It can be an unhappy state made worse because it must (by convention) be hidden.
    (Angel in the dust)-skipping church so she can paint!!!!

    Liked by 1 person

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