the books we loved in sweet largesse
no longer may be second guessed
but plotted, graphed and quartered, drawn
what once was ours
in easy dawns, even as children.
and now we've given up for dole
the endless freedom of the soul
to think of this or think of that
without compulsion, torture, rack
with no inner life at all
because they think
our thoughts, too small.
the experts who are sure we need
expertise for what we read.
forego, forego, the chilling winds
that put an end to dreaming.
mary angela douglas 13 june 2023
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