I must have written it under some crazy Emersonian sermonizing fit, but I did write it. So help me God!
When the crowd was shouting shame on the speaker,
Her tender soul was convinced of
The despised argument.
She also shouted shames -
and with a condescending smirk - but
Couldn’t coerce her fool-hardy inmate.
A bloody conflict ensued, which soon
Ended the ego’s irrational reign, and
Secured self-esteem from its hostage.
Truth marched onto her cheeks,
With crimson fireworks of victory, and
A mercury star in her eye
About to melt.
The smirk died.
And the red glow on her face
revealed what a poet lives on.
Beauty is not the consummation, but
The first sight of estranged self:
Haunting not like a monster in the sea,
But an inmate – like a god in the sky.
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