I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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Whose Number's The Sum Of My Sanity

Whose number’s the sum of my sanity;

Whose figures first count penitence then burn

Fire-wise the crust of my daily bread;

Whose ear-caught words that fall from mindless mouths

Repeat, reverberate and echo still

In these unpupilled eyes that tutor death.


While the sleepless child in grave-womb dying

Will loose its short-lived light in circled-sighs,

Woman, do not despair such gentle deaths

To which all loose-limbed lovers lightly pass,

And harbour rage not in your timid breast,

Where without sentence lie imprisoned words.


To man these ruins of unspoken sound,

I call the sentries from starred turrets down,

That, even if the voice shall never last,

The centred point where we return still stands,

And, wanting in its shade these deathless ghosts,

Be guarded on the backward-side of life.