A Community

We raised our hands in a forest of words,
We stretched out our arms in a gesture of light;
We welcomed the dirt, and the bugs, and the birds,
And brought depth and width, along with the height.

As time tumbled forward, community rose,
And we all together were more than each one;
What we lacked in drama, we had in repose,
And stood not ashamed to be under the sun.

The soil of recrimination is poor,
And nothing can grow when we plant among blames:
But much is accomplished where modesty dwells
And lives in our actions, as well as our aims.

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Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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