They fire on,
Sultry emotions tangled:
Rage and delight in that
Beauty supreme, from the mixer,
To those pieces becoming mixed,
In between the nothingness
Is something gleaming-
So nothing itself is a lie,
Only that which pretends
To be something
Must be the lack that I possess,
So much, in little pools
And bundles outpouring
From my heart,
Must achieve the nonentity
There created.
The two sides war
To be together, they are apart;
In my epicentre
Are the wounded transactions,
There to reform the scene,
A passionate turmoil
Emerging swiftly
From the dust-coloured mud,
Where saving me means nothing
More than squandering
My happiness,
Yet I want it to happen to me,
I want to be the surrendered
With full choice of battle-cry
And whitened flag;
I wish to be rescued,
Even if my fate
Miswills it.

The End

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