"accuse" poems
Your voice got louder
My words were hissed
I should've known
You would get ******
Adrenaline balled up
In the palm of my fist
I simply can't take
Much more of this
I knew it from the start
That this wouldn't last
Now I just want out
Real fuckin' fast
You're so **** controlling
Your tight hold on the reins
I really fuckin' hate you
I feel it in my veins
Don't accuse me of ****
That I didn't do
But I don't argue anymore
You won't see my view
I broke away from your hold
You don't control me
I can do what I want
I'm finally free
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
Yes, I'm a girl and I'm not trying to justify my body language nor am I positioning the rights of a feminist on the top, but
Yes, I was questioned always, even when I was right.
Subservience was legitimized as my trait ever since I felt this world.
Every time when I was buckled under by his lecherous eyes, I was asked to adjust my dupatta well.
Every action of mine substantiated the height to which I'll hold the name of my family.
I was asked to cross legs while sitting, speak amicably, yet not solitously.
Every time I'd to hide my period stain like a ****** blot.
I was asked to gallop my cramps because letting it out is a bitter sin.
Yes, I get my body scanned by their lewd gaze day in and out even when I put my baggiest of clothes on.
Yes, I'm a girl, and I have beautiful synonyms, call me maal, patola, bomb, ***** *** or a girl? May be, let yourself decide.
Yes, I'm questioned on the extension of the Roti's that I make and the smiles that I couldn't fake.
Yes, I'm a girl and I'll stand, and question your authority if it calls for, call me stubborn. Okay!
Remember, I'm a girl, and if you accuse me of being a feminist if I know, and can raise my tone up and against your authority, humanism needs to be checked then.
-APARAJITA TRIPATHI
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 10:13 PM UTC
I saw my toes the other day.
I hadn't looked at them for months.
Indeed, they might have passed away.
And yet they were my best friends once.
When I was small, I knew them well.
I counted on them up to ten
And put them in my mouth to tell
The larger from the lesser. Then
I loved them better than my ears,
My elbows, adenoids, and heart.
But with the swelling of the years
We drifted, toes and I, apart.
Now, gnarled and pale, each said, j'accuse!--
I hid them quickly in my shoes.
9.1k
My porcelain skin is no match
For the velvety brown of yours
Your soft chocolate eyes are lovelier
While my greens are merely cold
And I should know better than to refuse
To wipe my face on the floor
I should be more of a lady (or a nun)
If I'm to be all you're asking for
You reference the way I was raised
A single mother and an only daughter
And you're sure that I will lead astray
Your potential grandsons and granddaughters
Know that your son is all
The good you exclaim him to be
But he sees the light in these witch's eyes
Where you see death and greed
I now understand that I will never
Be righteous enough in your sight
And it is because of your background
That you accuse and criticize
You will always be his mother
Who cares for him nonetheless
But I will stay his lover
Even while I don't pass your test
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
We are who we are
We love who love us
We love who hate us
We love our Gender
Call us Girls
Call us women
Call us Ladies
We are TransWomen
Stop being confused
Stop being surprised
Stop calling us He or It
We hate that pronoun
We are females we as others
We deserve our rights like others
We deserve love and affection
We deserve Respect like others
We are tired of your nicknames
"Is a he or a she", "what is this?"
It hurts please stop stop stop!
We are fine ladies! Full stop !
You scared our fellow ladies
They are crying in closet
They are lonely in families
Because we are Transgenders!
Stop abusing my brothers
They men and so proud to be
Don't be confused by what you see
A transMan is a powerful Man!
Respect them now and forever
Stop calling them ladies or things
They are men **** and classy
They are men always and forever
See us slaying down town
We are lovely and attractive
We know who we are friends
You can't change us Sit down!
Don't be confused by Breast
That the **** chest of our brother!
He is strong enough to be proud
We love our bodies and gender
We won't hide because you hate us
The more you see us feeling proud
The better you understand us
We are Proud Transgenders!
We ladies need our Freedom
Government think about us
All women are equal in the country
We need all care and attentions!
Stop calling us Monsters
We are human beings
We deserve our Rights
We are citizens like others!
This ain't western culture
This ain't Sodoma and Gomollah
This is the gender of Us
We are Proud Transgender people!
Pastors stop that hate preach
That hell you need us to go in
That Sodoma you always sing
All were from Those Bibles
If you accuse all LGBTI people
To bring back ***** or Gomollah
First remember that bible you read
Was brought by Evangelists
We had gods and goddesses
Africa knew no White God
We had Love and respect
Read , reread and Rereread!
Love wins and will win
You are taking us nowhere
We are here to stay and slay
Ourselves Genger our Pride
We are done by your hate
Is our time to shine bright!
You gonna hate us today
And you will love us later!
TransWomen are women
TransMen are Strong men
Transgender is a Gender
Respect us we hurt no one!
"Transgender Right is Human right
TransWomen are women too
TransMen are men as well
We claim no war but our Freedom
We claim no hate but our Respect"
Poet : Skylar G Peter
Poem: we Are Proud Transgender people
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 4:15 AM UTC
Cranes accuse the sky
As people swarm like ***** in
A ******* jungle
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
Some clichty folks
don't know the facts,
posin' and preenin'
and puttin' on acts,
stretchin' their backs.
They move into condos
up over the ranks,
pawn their souls
to the local banks.
Buying big cars
they can't afford,
ridin' around town
actin' bored.
If they want to learn how to live life right
they ought to study me on Saturday night.
My job at the plant
ain't the biggest bet,
but I pay my bills
and stay out of debt.
I get my hair done
for my own self's sake,
so I don't have to pick
and I don't have to rake.
Take the church money out
and head cross town
to my friend girl's house
where we plan our round.
We meet our men and go to a joint
where the music is blue
and to the point.
Folks write about me.
They just can't see
how I work all week
at the factory.
Then get spruced up
and laugh and dance
And turn away from worry
with sassy glance.
They accuse me of livin'
from day to day,
but who are they kiddin'?
So are they.
My life ain't heaven
but it sure ain't hell.
I'm not on top
but I call it swell
if I'm able to work
and get paid right
and have the luck to be Black
on a Saturday night.
7.2k
Will you love me if I said
I have AHDH
(attention deficit hyperactivity disorder)
That I will jump before you speak
Will be impatient to get my way
I can love u and hate you at the same time
I will nod, but not understand.
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I have BPD
(Borderline Personality Disorder)
That I will be so drawn to you
That I'll throw myself at you
That more often than ever
I will question you if you me love too
Then I'll doubt you if you do
I'll accuse you of using me
Then I'll offer myself to be used
I will shunt between 2 shades
There is no grey for me
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I have Bipolar (Disorder)
That my mood swings like a pendulum
That I will drive you mad
Or make you sad
Or I'll laugh till I drop
That you will never understand
Who I am today
Dealing with my situation
Will depress you.
I can literally **** your life out too.
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I have NPD
(Narcissistic Personality Disorder)
That I will always think of me
That my dreams and aspirations will be so big
I wont have time for empathy
That I left my childhood behind
So don't bug me with sensitivity
I am afraid of your committment
Cause no one can hold me still
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I am terminally ill
That my pain is unbearable
My hope has dimmed out too
And I can see no end to my misery
But even though my life's a thread
I really want to have a full life again
I want to be able to trade my pain
If someone would only be game.
But I know it is not possible
Hence I ask for what is
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
You see this world's bursting with people who ache!
You and I have the difference to make.
It is so easy to empathize
With someone who pain is visible in daylight
But spare a thought for those who ache inwardly
Trapped in a battle with their minds eccentricity!
If your courage be so strong
That pain not withstanding you choose to bond
Live that life that gives glory
Share that love, that speaks a story
Love ceaselessly, love like it truly is!
Love above humans no one can
Cause loving like HIM,
Needs a supreme hand!
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
I hate it when dad comes home
He is ***** and he has smelly feet
Having spent long ours at construction site
Smelly and filthy.. what a sight!
I loath him, I look down on him
When I walk pass the working site
I turn my face, pretending he is out of sight
I constantly accuse god, I said he isn't fair
I want a different dad..
who drives a much better car
goes to work wearing tie and suit
The perfect dad I always think I should have...
At school one day
My best friend cried
She was devastated
Her rich dad left home
left for good with a pretty woman...
She has a house as big as a castle
Fat bank accounts and pretty outfits
Constantly travel around the world
Houses, condos, hotels
just name it where
but she has no dad to cuddle anymore
at night when she gets scared
of storms and thunder
I remember my dad's smelly feet instantly
annoying.. disgusting.. frustrating..
This dad of mine
I used to loath...
But he works all day
his sweat is his labor of love
to bring food on the table...
so we kids don't sleep hungry
This dad of mine
doesn't own expensive car
has never been overseas
has never worn a tailor made suit
and but he loves us wholeheartedly...
and always want to give only the best for us.
This dad of mine
whose smelly feet
will annoy me forever
but he loves his family truly
and will never leave our side
at anytime when we needed him most...
I love you daddy
All your perfect imperfections
I am sorry................
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
Extra Extra ...Read all about it!!!..The time for the righteous ***** is dead...You claim Your stature of limitations..But all you got is knowledge...Let me reconstruct the past...That the ones you preaching to don't see...Slavery...to share croppers.. to steal mill workers...Cotton pick en...to bootleg ‘en...to crack rock..slag ‘en...They got Aids from monkeys..So lets give it to all the monkeys..They know to much lets bury the smart ones under all the dummies...Rise up you righteous *** Shabazz..With more medals then Marcus Garvey...but this dispositions is thicker than the stash on Steve Harvey. Cuz the kids they love the Wiz...and all the green he smoke...Forget the yellow brick road...its these white bricks they see as Gold...But you so righteous with black power on Your bumper sticker...And so sweet that your water start to be thicker...then blood...with a hood that attack your own progression..You Been righteous for so long..with hope you feel depression..that you accuse your brother of mental retardation...urban gentrification...when he still live in the same house he did the year before...but you been moved to the east side on the top floor..You righteous *** ***** you been pronounced dead...back when them bombs hit over Bagdad...they waved the white flag..but you just made it easy...cuz you still so righteous...you done Got Fat, Turned Gay...and rallying for pride marches...Cuz you don’t know what else to do...your time is over..Them black cats use to be panthers, now you dress them up...and placed us all in a new minority...just to keep your righteous priority...Are You still looking East, or have you finally excepted the West..
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 1:02 PM UTC
So often we associate love directly with pain.
We accuse it of causing us
Anguish
Damage
Misery.
Irrationally deciding
To never engage
With another being
On this deeper level again.
Convinced
We must avoid such harm.
But wait—
Is this merely a way
To justify the ways in which
We allow our feelings to hold the power?
Consume us
Confuse us and
Take complete control?
Strip down your hurt
Your anger and
Your bitterness.
You may see clearer
Recognizing
It is not the presence of love that is hurtful.
Rather
The absence of love
The loss of love
The misidentification of love
Igniting these feelings within.
Truth is,
When love is open
Honest
Pure and
Present
It is truly an invaluable treasure.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 10:05 PM UTC
Concealed depression is
Buying water proof mascara
So you won't have to reapply makeup
after each daily breakdown.
Concealed depression is
Laughing at everything
so they won't question
why your eyes always water.
Concealed depression is
staying up until 4 a.m
because it's the only time
you can ignore the world
and no one will notice.
...Or concealed depression is
taking three melatonins
in hopes you'll sleep deep
enough to keep the terrors at bay.
Concealed depression is
Staying consistently busy
So your mind will be too exhausted
at the end of the day to fight you.
Concealed depression is
the impatient selfish monster
that burns bridges as you cross them.
Concealed depression is
feeding yourself lies like
"I'm fine" or "I won't cry".
Concealed depression is
the uphill battle that you don't get to win once;
it's a mountain you're forced to climb every single day.
Concealed depression is
silently screaming, hoping someone
will have super sonic hearing,
swoop in like a bat,
and carry you under their wings.
Concealed depression is
never hugging too tightly
or meeting a gaze too intensely
in case your guts may slip
out before you can catch them.
So when they accuse you of changing,
when they accuse you of rage and indifference,
of violence and apathy,
when they ask why you never called,
when they ask why you never told them,
all you can say is that concealed depression
is like an overbooked hotel and there's only room for one.
All you can say is that you were afraid
Your darkness would drown them too
and then there would be no one left to save you.
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 2:52 AM UTC
I have sought knowledge,
And knowledge did I receive.
I’ve read of kings and queens that rise and fall,
Kingdoms that have rules the world,
Just to crumble like dust.
Wars that have literary ripped countries apart,
And separate families by walls concrete and tears.
But knowledge doesn’t come without a price.
It has opened my eyes,
And I know everything is not as it seems.
I see people who masquerade around,
Hiding their true face.
And now the question comes to you.
Who are you truly,
Who is that broken spirit inside,
That you have hid?
Beaten and oppressed,
Never to see the light of day,
Forced into hiding because of…
You.
You left yourself there,
And let you rot.
Because you never finished the fight.
You let the insults beat you down,
And instead of resisting, you gave up.
Caved in,
Curled up,
Forever chained to you past.
You bare a burden on your back,
A shadow the makes you never forget.
Scars across your heart,
Designed for you to never forget.
Who am I to accuse you of this?
Because I have searched.
And because this is me.
And in the end,
When the curtains close and the lights dim,
And the masks come off,
Who will you be?
A shadow of your former self,
Carried by the strings of those who you allowed to control you?
But then my journey’s through,
I’m just a mad man with a pen.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
I can tell you that you’re beautiful,
You will not believe me.
I can tell you that you mean everything to me.
You will not care.
I can tell you that you are perfect.
You will accuse me of lies.
I can tell you that you are ugly.
I can tell you I hate you.
I can tell you that you disgust me.
Would then a disagreement come to mind?
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 11:08 PM UTC
Hip hop. Equals art stop. That crude **** stopped musical fusion
Right in its tracks.
When it first landed, it was still music with a lotta spittle flying.
Not naming names. I listened to a lot of it.
Then Gangsta rap hit. Oh ****
Cant accuse me of blind judgment, I still check it out from time to time
How do you say.Get diverse mud flappers. Know the history.
learn to play an instrument and read it so you can write it. Then come back an see me.
Who am I?.
John Q public.
Pavlov's dog.
Tin Pan Ali.
Long Tall sally.
Sachmo. Scratch less.
Yard-bird.
Donald Bird.
Stubborn ****
Stuff out there is weak as thrice used tea bags. And cost more to get unless you got
a peg leg and a parrot ******** on yer shoulder.
Lyrically, man my six year old says more about less with **** left over. What?
Flame out digitized No talent constructs that make me wanna hurl, url give a dog a bone.
Tin eared, tone def hoochies and synthetic cool cats. Not to mention the rough neks.
Looking like they pooped their pants six times and forgot how to belt up.
There are some real deal talents out there but it is like pickin peanuts out ****
After disco died. Yes I said disco. It has been a circle **** in the cemetery after dark. Naw mean.
But I digress.
.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 4:42 AM UTC
Why should the Light return upon
Our cold and darkened land?
When, into sleep, we drift and yawn,
So thoughtless of His hand...
We never think: "Someday it may
Forever cease to shine!"
We never thank – with thanks, befit –
For Morning Mercies' rise.
Why should the Light return upon
Our cold and darkened land?
But to awaken life at dawn
As He, in Goodness, planned...
We never, then, have an excuse
To fall into a dream
We never, then, can e’re accuse;
His Glory’s, daily, seen.
.
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 11:41 AM UTC
I'm too despressed to notice I'm stressed out
Suppressed emotions inside, shouldn't let out
Seeing is believing but what I see isn't real
I am forced to accept these "realities" and ignore the way I feel
I don't mean to sadden, entertain, bore, or aggravate,
For a decade I find that this is how I communicate
The only way I can precisely speak out on the unhealthy pleasures
As the chemicals of my brain, they fornicate
These levels of relationships aren't supposed to be
It'll **** me sometime later, look at how it has ruined my personality
Seeing is believing, but you won't believe what I see
How can I act 'normal' when you won't acknowledge I can't do 'human being'
My animalistic compulsions are fuelled by my failing brain functions
Don't get too close cause I'll try to bite, I sympathise for your flesh when I malfuntion
Don't be scared, I'm not canibalistic, I just like to use my teeth
Humans scare me, I must defend myself, uh, I mean, to smile and eat
I'm not afraid to say it, but I'm scared when I'm saying it, I have to say
I have been observing your mundane human actions, I really don't want to be put away
I always feel foreign, alienated, out-of-place
But because I'm "considerate," I have to bite my tongue to save me some face
I'm too stressed out to notice that I'm depressed
Wanting mental soundessnes, yes, peace, my hallucinations don't give me rest
My taughts speed down their highway, my delusions are always a-fest
They inflict beneath my exterior, but for the public eye, I wear a crest
"I wear my skin well, don't you think?" I lie, becuase it ill-fits
I am totally normal, "I'm fine." Can't change the fact I'm a misfit.
The beams that bear my bag of meat rust and thus begin to weaken
The lethal sagging's caused by the mental luggage, I'm not heard, even though I'm speaking
Many persons think that I'm overly paranoid, I must admit, that I am
You would be the same way too, if about your health, no one ever gives a ****
Help doesn't come, because their 'laters' always becomes 'nevers'
I am not that superhuman, can't keep myself together, forever
They claim that they would help me, some way, somehow, but their actions never initiate
Someday, sometime, it would all be over, through a thorough death physical or mental
Oh yes, I'm still believing, you can't accuse me of not having faith.
I look forward to my healing, but all the while, my brain chemicals fornicate.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
You see,
When you grow up in a place such as I have,
And you're a person like me,
You start to have a special kind of hatred for small towns.
In my town,
In the land of the brave,
And the home of the free,
Things are messed up.
Our motto should be-
Land of the cowards,
And the home of the free (if you're like us).
...They wouldn't even know how to spell you're correctly.
In my town,
Bibles are thrown,
Names are called,
Cars are keyed,
And people are beat...
All because they're different.
Its not necessarily the different that you would imagine.
If you're red headed,
Or anything but Christian,
If you're a yank,
Or a gay,
You're hated on.
I can promise you this.
At the red heads,
They accuse them of witch craft,
And being in line with the devil.
Some have even went so far,
As to burn down ones house.
If you're not a Christan,
Run as far away from this town as possible.
Its not the place for you.
On the road I live on,
There are 7 Southern Baptist churches,
JUST on my road.
Southern Baptist are a little crazy,
Run boy,
Run.
If you're a yank....
You'll be excluded,
And yelled at.
Everything bad that goes on in this **** town,
It will all be blamed on you.
If you're gay,
Oh lord forbid that you're gay.
Don't be gay in this town,
Just dont.
You wont survive.
As for me,
I am a red headed girl,
Who comes from out of town,
Who isn't a yank,
But is still treated like one.
I am a Christan,
But not as much as I need to be,
And I am not quite straight.
I dont like this small town of mine,
But its the place I call home.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
It's all going strange, or so I think;
'For whom the bells toll,' ringing all week.
The truth is told, witches do not sink,
Burnt at the stake, for the lies you speak.
Presecuted; superstitous men,
Accuse and choose; God fearing, they ****
Eradicate if you don't fit in;
Wipe out those with the strongest free will.
Witch hunts aren't exclusive to the past,
Each day we read about people burnt;
In the tabloids, reputations last;
They are not killed, but families are hurt.
Witches; daughters of humility,
Not called a witch but 'celebrity'.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 4:06 PM UTC
In a strange mood - see/write art
in a strange way, disorganized but straight on,
light tinted magenta, issuing, in frothy large pours, from my mouth,
knowing what to say, and the meaning too,
I can more than walk, can write, on water,
where all can read weeping, Mary-miracles of seeing, living words,
themselves, on light waves lapping in a
shifting rotunda vision, color reorienting spatial senses.^
in a strange, strange stitch, seasonal spirits and witches,
Chagall, Baez, Dylan Thomas, Donovan, Richie Havens
doing their knitting in my brain, from Montmartre to the Midwest to Monterey,
painters and poets in lockstep head-messing with me,
imperfect clarity but still one voice,
see/write art,
so went and caught the wind, going gently into night
to banish the hodgepodge of uncertainty from inside out.
knowing well you don't understand fully, but jumbling tumbling
verses are sliding off my rusted tongue as fiddlers fly above,
roughened words, hewn from a paper cup, spilling diamonds uncut, imported from Sarajevo, Montparnasse, the Lower East Side.
wretched me, in the hour I first believed, this amalgamated conception conceded,
seceded from my mind into your palate for a tasting,
tho neither drugged, nor deaf and dumb, just slammed poetical-like, this write is
all I have to portend is your affections, your attentions, to yours, am beholden.
a ***** well respected man in daylight,
the hidden references accuse,
woke up to see Wednes-day Caesarian born,
askance glanced at the prior passages of the night before,
when my palate clefted,
when eyes chose not to distinguish
between right and lefted,
in the nightlight,
a ***** man disrespects language convection/convention,
and lays before you activating stanzas and his mind, prone,
but always the truth, speaking,
the visions, leaking, mind to eye,
recombinant, into our minds eye.
^ http://www.guggenheim.org/new-york/exhibitions/on-view/james-turrell
Rather than write extensive notes on the many references, inspirations in this poem, if there is a line that intrigues, ask me
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
In long lasting fortitude is the fight of the astute.
A lot of effort is made towards the war of the moral.
And a race towards life is the route.
Preparing the endless fit of strength of all.
There is he who is choosing his fate.
Working hard despite all opposers’ bait.
There is he who is choosing life.
Working hard despite all opposers’ strife.
Lost in the dirt, seeking out of the ruse.
Forced towards the light, brighter and rife.
No letting up despite the refuse.
Clean is the proud, and happy, the player of the flute.
A rite of passage for all is the praise of the immortal.
War is the only dispute
Death is not fatal.
The renegade does not enter the gate.
He is stuck outside the city, and left without state.
The renegade does not know his wife.
He is stuck at heart and can’t even play a fife.
In the dirt he is and is with a lot of abuse.
He cannot escape the knife.
Cut, cutting up despite the accuse.
Reality is but the face of cute.
Subjected to falsified doctrine and the immoral.
It is callous and as rotten fruit.
Moxie exists with everyone no matter how small.
Can the one who is happy learn to hate?
Only he or she can solve this debate.
Finally the long absent sky above the Alewife.
Can’t say that I have seen such teeming wildlife...
Swimming in a sea of its Muse.
The lowly continue their sighs
But I do proudly diffuse.
.This plight of mine is hard to toot.
Exemplified by my emphasis on the astral.
With which I dress in an armoured suit.
So my enemies do not mute my oral.
and the skies do tell in high rate,
How esteemed they are on time and ne’er late.
But giving ever virtuous despite
All those dead or dying, without prospect of afterlife.
It is their way to choose:
The dark abyss of guise,
(or) The gentle river of blue
For now I do keep silent, But still I commute,
With those of higher propositions and goal,
So I do instill thyself a deeper root.
In the waterbed truly formal.
Those who truth ‘I do navigate’
and those of lies ‘I do alienate’
At a loss O’ man or mesmerize,
Work harder on thoughts than just plagiarize.
The foes of old are still and sleuth
I show them love and they in lies are baptized
Tradition is there with purpose, don’t misuse.
I see to it the wise stay wise,
For better they will strategize.
And the unwise, wisdom they will pursue.
Giving them their much needed paradise.
And the lost I will use.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
THEY must to keep their certainty accuse
All that are different of a base intent;
Pull down established honour; hawk for news
Whatever their loose fantasy invent
And murmur it with bated breath, as though
The abounding gutter had been Helicon
Or calumny a song. How can they know
Truth flourishes where the student's lamp has shone,
And there alone, that have no Solitude?
So the crowd come they care not what may come.
They have loud music, hope every day renewed
And heartier loves; that lamp is from the tomb.
3.4k
There, she is there. She moves in the cold September morning
it's hours yet till dawn but she knows neither light nor dark
nor scarcely where she is. A light, a door, stone steps. She walks
straight up them, eyes ahead; her body rigid as she jerks
forward towards the door, the handle, and suddenly the man
behind the desk. He looks up, his breath stops
he sees her tragic bright eyes, he sees the blood, and
how she holds those small white-knuckled hands; he watches
her terrible face. He knows without asking, but he asks.
They are locked already into an unspeakable knowledge,
only yesterday she was here, distraught and pleading,
it was his chance for brilliance — or at least for goodness —
and he missed it. He has become her jailer now, who
could have been her saviour. He wholly understands,
and it is too late. No one else will ever come to him and say
'Help me, take me, please, before I do this thing . . .'
He will be haunted now for ever by his trial, deceptive
as it was, and he found wanting. No one will accuse him
and he can never be forgiven. His uniform rustles slightly
as he rises, his single offer a cup of institution coffee,
potion for the ****** 'Your jacket's all ****** take it off.'
Oh cry for the breaking day, the sleeping pillows shocked
by phone calls, messages, alarms, weep now and every morning
for the Janus faces, back to back, of guilt and innocence.
3.3k
you accuse;
my mind is Arizona desert,
if only you could appreciate
those breath taking cactus gardens!
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 8:58 PM UTC