Saturday, 1 September 2012

In an Outrageous Country

I cannot conceal from myself,
Can scarcely master,
The anxiety which grips me.
It confronts me,

In vain have I tried,
With calculated carelessness,
Of the depraved designing mind.

I approach in thought,
Unlawful paths,
Seeing the most fantastic figures,
Not easily taken back.

How, then can we explain,
The fruit of the journey.
Something outrageous,
In misdirecting a traveller.

The lost traveller,
Consoled by the change of country
In every change, new hope of a way out. 
- B. Wheatley
Most of the poetry I write is "found", in random words or the pages of a book or notes in a meeting, this poem was found in Soren Kierkegaard’s book The Seducers Diary.

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