Private
There's something in you that wants
To scar the face of beauty
To mar the soul of the ones that shine.
How could I in the inner of my garden
Permit such rueful intelligence
And critical superiority
Amidst the subtle things
Which gossamer the winds
Of this hidden place?
Your invidious superiority
And supernumerary ordinances
Blaspheme this place of the graceful unnamed
Your appraisals by numbers
And dispositions witty
The unsayable pleasures of hidden founts
Revolt against, and like a blighted flower
Shrivel at your sneer.
Why submit my subtle and savage precocious ones
To your patronizing blindness?
Your tolerance of my strangeness?
Your patience with what should
Shiver you to your core?
I sang a song of a broken heart
Your heart remained unbroken
I sang a praise of a soul full blown
You laughed at such pretention.
Better to remain the eternal unknown
Solitary and shining in the inner bright of my night.
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