I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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I Curse The Quartered Genesis Of Spring

I curse the quartered genesis of spring

To utter now the warring word within

My breast, when time in all his rages winds

A nerve to breed upon the broken ground

Where no grave’s womb will sacrifice its seed;

There neither ghost nor glory should be found

Except by dawn’s light breaking in your eye.

In crucibles of enigmatic birth

I trace the flame from spark to cindered end,

My selves arise and shed their smoke-robed skin

Then flee like Moses from the ten-plagued land.

When I who found no solace in their sleep

Am implicated by their phratric voice

Whose word was first creation then death’s call,

The judgment passed is greater than the sin.

And though it cost my hoard to free your voice,

I pawn my pennied thoughts to ransom truth.