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Mariana In The South by John William Waterhouse


Oldest enemy,
most loathed
and most longing of love,
I tire.

Face to face
on a forty-year battlefield
we stagger and pant;
a portrait of futility.

From every wound I score,
I bleed
and will only defeat you
in mine own dying.

I’ve tried and failed
to pin you.
to like you,
to let go this hurting.

But I can find only
one freedom from form
and I’m not done with living.
No, I'm just beginning.

So tell me, beloved foe, detested friend,
what is the secret of this alchemy?

What glass reflects new light
and will we ever see?


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