I am a pentagon in living lines
Moving by angles leaning from the last
Aimed as if outward; but the scheme confines
And at the end all is a constant cast
Of ugly mathematic men whose sign
Subsumes all mood and wish: a life made fast,
Though heart would go get drunk on dreams and wine
And love in willows’ shadows, in the past.
O soul, go wild, go search the night for love
While April lasts and youth still moves the mind
To songs of wild love’s making; for above
Waits always age to seize the heart and bind,
Come bind a man in pentagons of days
When habit drives dull hearts down death-bound ways.
About the Poet
Peter Bridges is a former Army private, a retired American ambassador, and the author of two memoirs and two biographies. His many shorter works have appeared in Vita Brevis, American Diplomacy, Copperfield Review, Eclectica, Virginia Quarterly Review, and elsewhere.