Shorn Poem by Jan Sand

Shorn



At birth we are capacities untried.
Nature prunes off potentialities.
Our culture directs where effort is applied
To create subsets of realities.
But deep within us lies machineries
To plug into the strange pariah world
Where people sprout, like plants, with greeneries
And ideas snap like silver flags unfurled.
Here do dragons prowl through golden caverns
And starships sail through orange colored skies
While knights and elves sport in smoky taverns
And all dark corners harbor wild surprise.
Society constrains to mundane ends, -
Confers a job, a family and friends.

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