A Fixed Line
If happiness were a fixed line,
It would be contorted in the form
Of a circle,
Endlessly cycling
Toward itself,
And always a repeating motion
That ceases to amaze.
It would not be within that line
That we would experience the shattered
Fragments of joy
That gleam through the bloodshed—
The amaranthine bruising
That makes our skin heavy
From the gashes of sorrow—
That gleam like the glimmers of broken glass
Misted over the cool, dewy grass
In the moonlight.
The center of that circle would evade us
As we chase our tails back
To find our previous hedonisms,
And narcissisms, and simulated nostalgias.
We would need to break the line
With a thoughtful tangent
That cuts through the emptiness
And into where the emptiness remains
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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