GAOL
Today I saw a flower crushed
beneath the weight of life
as if,
a life were not a chance
but chain, and all the world
a man to put her in it.
Begged question I: when young,
with youth and prospect still
how comes a mind to wink
around itself, and open not to
folly and to fame?
Bespoke the lie, and beaten back
with tooth and nail to contemplate;
takes not a man to trick a man,
but all the holes we tumble to
one spadework only can be seen:
Our Own.
O Flower! die not, for in such
wanton suicide are all things
turned to stone; and like Medusa's
statues, all are blind.
Hark not, and rally not around
the ancient battle cry, the easy
way: to speak in tongues of men
and angels, cry "I cannot."
What grievous harm, do all we take
and nothing of it know.
The question asked no more, becomes
'What shall we do?' and
in it's place a spectre rise:
'You nothing can.'
and all was lost.
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