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Literature Text
The shrill-calm call
Of choir boys
In a perfect room of stone
The sweet-dead scent
Of moistened earth
Waxing midst the gloam
The faint, warm glow
Of fragile light
Stirring worms of night-chilled loam
What other name deserves
This sacred, sweet, secret
Paradox of home?
How do I un-live a truth
That has already split me whole?
How do I un-write that
Which has spilt the ink of my soul?
I ask the young and passersby:
‘When you’ve seen beauty
How to e’er forget the sight?
‘Or the might of beauty’s impress
Upon a mere onlooker’s blight?’
Of choir boys
In a perfect room of stone
The sweet-dead scent
Of moistened earth
Waxing midst the gloam
The faint, warm glow
Of fragile light
Stirring worms of night-chilled loam
What other name deserves
This sacred, sweet, secret
Paradox of home?
How do I un-live a truth
That has already split me whole?
How do I un-write that
Which has spilt the ink of my soul?
I ask the young and passersby:
‘When you’ve seen beauty
How to e’er forget the sight?
‘Or the might of beauty’s impress
Upon a mere onlooker’s blight?’
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Comments2
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This has a really nice cadence to it, and I like the transition from imagery into questions. "How do I un-live a truth\That has already split me whole?" is really well placed; I think those are the two best lines in the poem, and really drive everything else.