the painted water

I’d ask you once again, but Lord, I know
How everything arrays itself on you:
That’s friends, and troubles, dynamite, and dust,
That’s beauty, glory, gratitude, and grief,
A multitude, a plethora of all
That makes the world seem bigger than our hearts.
So by the painted water sit awhile:
There is a smear, a smudge, a drip, a stain,
And many other patterns for the soul
That’s come unmoored, that feels itself adrift.
So think of how the music sounded when
The truck rolled by in summers as a child,
And feel how kind can be delivery,
And why the chasing’s worth it, after all.

Author: Beleaguered Servant

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

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s