Take it through the shade of your shadow-
Let blindness be your guide;
Walk from today to tomorrow
Relying on nothing on your side...
Fear is but a product of sensing,
A living abortion that looks so much older,
A monster out of one's own labor feeding
On freedom, enslaving space and caging in shelter.
Keep watching it build up, growing,
Or grope for the sustaining plug-
Favor euthanasia over suicide, weeding
Out what the self itself has dug.
It's an ever-skewed mirror after all-
Deceit is fullest when the eyes are open;
Doubt with them closed as death sees all
In its lucid dream, everything unhidden, swollen.
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Comments about this poem (Behold by Robert Lansing )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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