Tangles Poem by Roy Ballard

We are such tangles, such a skein of knots,

our schemes and paths put in chaotic state

by Fortune's spite, bad luck in drawing lots

or by the double dealing hand of Fate.

How can we find the ends of all these ropes

and matted loops that should be separate?

Good order is the object of my hopes,

the jumbles coiled up and securely set.

How can I find you amid so much choice

of convoluted cords and trapping lines

without direction or a guiding voice?

At every move another snare entwines.

Yet you, my love, who are myself on wings,

tease every twist however close it clings.