such a dark poetry from Blake... politics and country divided
A Poison Tree
I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.
I think there's something kind of magical about the idea of a myth. I didn't used to, not before I knew you. I looked at you and thought that there must be some truth to you, but I know now that most of how you've constructed yourself is just a lie.
That sounds bitter. Lies and myths are not the same thing.
It's disappointing that who I thought you were isn't true.
[Kate] one word.com
The system was oppressive
But she would not give up
She would not give in
She kept dancing
To the drumbeat in her head
To the salsa, to the rumba
Spinning in red
Laughing in lavender
She kept her arms open
Into the dance
[Teal] one word.com