A Solo Among the Couplets

People come to me and say,
“Live as though there’s just today.”
Need that really now be said?
Life is short, and soon we’re dead —

Dead to memory, and touch:
It’s not thinking overmuch
Knowing that, since life short,
It’s more than a watcher’s sport.

Days to come are not what was;
Living is as living does.
Social creatures, yes, we are:
At the keyboard, home, or bar,

Reaching always out in pain
(Who’s to say what isn’t sane?)
For relationship and place:
Biotouch or cyberspace —

Seminal in each assay,
Shocked and shaken (wired that way)
Soft and quiet, hard and loud,
One among the senseless crowd,

Taken in, in all, on trust:
We believe because we must.
What we’ve sold today repurchase,
Search for context, clue and purpose,

Semblances of what’s to be,
Paralyzed humanity,
Struggling within the mire
Of a life of blue desire.

Friends made out of enemies,
Summer heat, and winter freeze,
Those who stand beside to grieve:
Lovers stay when others leave —

And in silence bow their heads,
Meliae and Oreads,
There among forgotten ways,
Faithless night or endless days,

Gone, when people stop to say,
“Live as though there’s just today.”
Strange to say, or to recall,
Since we rarely live at all —

Each of us must stand apart:
Wielders of a broken heart,
Keepers of the fading flame,
Players of the classic game,

Running toward no finishing line.
Grasping, reaching. Yours. No mine.
Wandering in search of rest,
Havens bathed in quietness.

Red among a sea of blue,
Transitory me, and you,
Here to stand in line awhile,
Then to exit,
Single
File

Author: Beleaguered Servant

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

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