Blindly Quiet
The sun rises in vain, pouring thin
Sheets through ever-drawn curtains.
Birds twitter their morning songs;
Poison in my ears.
An inrush of air spreads fresh blood
Along my scars, scratching them, sensing
Harsh memories of all that is sensuous;
Of all that I can no longer envisage.
If only this dark place should end:
Happy or sad, whether reborn or mad,
I care no more. All that remain
Are tortuous retentions; please, close my eyes, please.
� Joseph Tradescent
Poems
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