Wounded

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    Wounded


    Take me to the wilderness
    to the consecrated places
    show me that it is there
    that I
    feel unlost

    allow me to look at the sky beneath
    the canopy
    and watch the world move beneath me
    move me
    heal me

    let me stay long
    let the cool earth and the forest sooth me
    heal me
    leave me with the mother for a while
    she has yet to do her work on me
    again

    I am wounded
    take me to the wilderness
    to the consecrated places
    the holy land
    where god still operates
    unimpeded

    let me hear the wind in the trees
    the creatures
    going about their survival
    we call it survival
    as if what they do is some lesser thing
    but surely they know more peace
    than we of civilized places.

    Take me into the wilderness
    To the consecrated places
    it is surely there that I will know
    from where comes love

    Margo Kirwin
    December 2, 2000

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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