Iconography Poem by Frank Avon

He had to have his icons,
Olympians, if you will,
from the very beginning,
from the time those bullies
taught him his inadequacies,
that he was an outsider,
an alien among his kind.

They were distant, aloof,
living on another plane,
but walking among us,
though not of us, statuesque.
He wanted to be like them,
and knew he never would,
though not like them either,
but of them, evergreen.

Until there came a time
he discovered himself, even
celebrated his Self. Even
then they were implanted in
his mind, shadows inside him,
from time to time emerging
to remind him that he has
always come in second
in whatever race he's run -
never number one. Except

that she has loved him
accepted him, alien that
he is; moreover she is his
Other Self, one who makes
him complete, lifts him up
beyond the everyday, every day,
not statuesque, not above us,
but, at last, ever, evergreen.