Plain Poem

And wonder, you, the time which lies between,

The landscape of the world detached from sight,

Where all required to animate obscene

This thought: to hate one’s vision and rewrite

The stubborn fruitless page of crumpled plight.

A worthless word, now toss to flame of death,

The judgment of hypocrisy polite.

For never could embrace you, sordid deaf,

The value, inadmissible, my honest depth!

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