Poem by Jack Ashenden
Oh true misfortune! I know thee too well-
All I commit to paper will, doth tell.
Perhaps a dark side to my soul doth hide,
and I, its slave, move forward almost blind.
Comfort I find in exploring human
sorrow and depression, I cannot fathom
love, joy, hope content without derision.
No distinction between state of being,
being in a state, sight without seeing.
Yet there's one thing I'm sure I know -
I know not what I think, nor identify, nor control.
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