AliveA Poem by Robert RonnowWhat is appropriate to say about the changes in your life. That at 23 I was confused about a girl, under the sculpted pines. Quietly, my friends and I contemplate death. A subject, until recently, unknown to us in such a variety of forms. Nuclear flash to exploding blood vessel in the brain, control eludes us. Heirs to a society adept with numbers, we run in the park and eat whole grains, increasing survival odds. The city and the mountain are two hard anvils against which our hot lives are shaped. Love is the fire, and the need for love. To be shaped by the lover's warm hands, like clay. Alive, almost sure of it.
© 2018 Robert Ronnow |
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