A person has a right to protest and complain and to yearn bitterly for release*

Where can I rest?
in a land of famine,
none at it's best:

not under the mourning sky,

devoid of sweet hopes-

of still moonshadow

not in the farmfields,

not in the scars of history

not in the battlefields

not under the whimpering

voice of democracy

Where can I rest?

not in your pride

away from your sight-

far from any emotional


Where can I rest,

when all I can see is dirt black

where there are shadows

running everywhere

where there is

no room of my own

where there is

only me

and my


*from Perfection and Derangement by Fanny Howe

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