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Roberts

Lynette Roberts
1909-1995

"He alone could get me
out of this"

 

  He alone could get me out of this
But he neither knows nor cares
After Hell there is a full stop.

The storm in my brain its
High tensional rays,
The sickness in my soul
And the growl and biting grit
That sets me back
Each moment forward I want to fly
Forward on the wake of some aerial device.
Where every moment is fresh
A flower or bird not seen.

To some trespassed spot
Of rippling streams, good natured
Enchantment, ease, and plentiful rest,
Where there is no access to these painful and
Immediate idiosyncracies:
Where peace is formal, wholesome, and pure.
And I would not call this escape
Nor would I call this inaction;
But a source from where all
Growth and activity could reside,
Could breed and acquire
A new note and thought,
Conspire with him whom I have recently admonished,
A new foregathering of Spring.

 

© Lynette Roberts
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