Retort Poem by Leon Moon

Death to the old greens hills
Stunted oranges of the sun!
Peel off the ice cold lightning
That declares earnest hearts.

I have had enough of neophytes
Clamouring to re-tell their truths,
Nature only conceals my voice
By releasing me unto the world.

Never a sole novel sacrifice
Or volte-face the eternal memory,
Hidden in my peculiar fame
That names without change

Let me cast off the under current
That boils my life to symbol!