my cells worship the dying star lying on warm earth with eyes shut – primeval float before a creator in the blinding temple of white my mind echoes the receding ages into the spiraled universe all whom I love will die atoms of memory joy and pain meeting the still earth under the fated sun. bodies at rest their spirits find birth against darkness of night (1960s) Your will’s my bitter prison, Lord This place distasteful These people strange work slavery my plans refused desires denied Yet others think I’m free, all choices mine. And I am free: free to be yours or mine, and therefore your prisoner. I can hardly be me I so disagree with Thee (1960s) |
Poems by Janet
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von Gumppenberg |
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