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Poem

This query of consent
the run a round is bent
a brightened acquisite
no needing, no resent!

Too scattered, as in Spring
through harshness fallaced bring
Ah, let these winds control me not
the error, from impinge!

If error, I've misplaced
your firmament more sure,
I've lost the best so needed
to qualify my nerve!

And seeming so abound
the constant is profound,
to know thyself unfetished
removes the waste's confound.

No license, no conjur
my walk now soft and pure
confesses with some atrophy 
forrgotten, with a slur!

That equal strain survive
and make thyself demure
we constantly arrive
to only leave no cure!

Some difference mount in claim
and then toward its reward
that justice not the tiff
but only hope's accord!

All silence seems the sword
and then to what ~ insane
the hush marks are more futile
then all the loud shouts main!

What were we fighting for
the noise is so acquit,
my memory is dashing
about to make it fit!

'Twere better said than not
just say as though begot,
the center ring is hostile
my mind consume's self taught!

Exaction falls to rule
and hominess' consent
does edge away dual
complacencies resent!

This freedom to be heard
and then above the wind
exells o'er nature's spurred
the license ~ without sinned!

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