Written by Jon Summers
Always alone then, rooted
to the bald earth of this one
field, subject to the bitter
wind that lays waste a
bare, barren land, knowing
the colour of sunset, of
dawn, brittle branches stark
against an unforgiving sky
empty but for contrails
subject to the limits of an
outlook stunted by…
A slow imagination? No,
just the pain with which
we must always stand alone.
Text © Jon Summers
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This poem is a subtle but powerful expression of how pain conditions the way we live our lives, how it isolates us even in landscapes that could be beautiful, and how loneliness is not always chosen, but endured.