How we tremble, wound and rage;
Understand nothing at every stage.
Madness we call it, and then we return
Abhorrent lessons we gleefully discern;
Not merely how to destroy, or maim--
I know the worst agony; called shame
Too easily provoked, by flashing my soul--
You'll see.  I'll write poems, and be devoured whole.

The End

226 comments about this poem Feed