Innersubmission

The rain still falls on the helpless widow ---

In her silent slumber --- locked,
she remains.
A prisoner of time's thwarting, demeaning signature.

Cast out the intruder, and lock the doors of perception
against the killer.
For unknown reasons he will bore,
with his untidy conventionality,
into the depths of one so free
as you might consider yourself.

Awaken your senses and call up
from that desolate remembrance
the source of life's shortcomings.

All things thrive and exist, death excluded,
in the not-so-certain minds of those
who would attack
and break your mountain of strength
down, chip by chip.

To those many wandering creatures, death is an end ---
Not an experience...

Speak of sweet freedom
in the bondage of a tormented land
where creativity seems the enemy
and reason the hero.

Dream --- to survive.


19 March 1992

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