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by Dane Campbell

As I interpret an open wound,
I find that ambiguity
breeds fear and comfort
in equal measures,
vacillate between stark alternatives:

Pain can inoculate.
Pain can annihilate.

All night long,
I have sat in this bleak garden
where the throbbing throng
of an importunate chorus
accosts me,
bends my ear to incoherencies.

But the trees, meanwhile,
are insufferably stoic,
black mountains carved
from a lesser darkness.
Infinitely impudent,
they declare nothing.

I know, now, that need
is not quite belief,
nor grief love,
know that it is useless
to ponder
the fixed stars that govern
this life.


Posted on 08/25/2021
Copyright © 2024 Dane Campbell

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 08/25/21 at 06:33 PM

Love it! And a new word for me; heard it before, but had to look up the definition. Kudos!

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 08/26/21 at 04:51 PM

Dealing with the recent death of a loved one I find myself in this bleak garden and it perfectly describes many of my emotions.

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