you must stay inside long enough to know
where you are
shed of the frantic need to be master
of nerves, of the way
to go
and the word was No
to every Yes, or Yes to every No . . .
and no middle ground
to be crossed
between sun and moon
as though sky needs clouds.
He who scours the streets for fallen pennies
works until he has dinner on his plate
and eats alone
She who spurns love has learned the reason why
she can love only what she needs
to be free
And only the middle way goes nowhere
The soul stews in the heart’s blood
. . . better to be nailed to a cross,
say those condemned to silence
in dank rooms whose bars are bones
with the skin still on
as others give orders
and the dead do not rise ever
and the living fill the lines in their skin.
(18 February 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander
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