WILLIAM
Again I turn to you for support and solace,
your condemned monsters, grotesque beasts,
wombs bearing angels seeking sins of passion.
You wronged poet somehow inspire a pursuit
of extraordinary complexity, yet life is simple
so dark, you see eternity in an hour. But one
finds a Hell in a grain of sand, should He choose
to deem Edith unworthy – a casual prejudice
brings down a city, stands pillars of salt eroding
earthly faith. Thus denied, up rises, roaring,
your Red Dragon from the sea behind the one
clothed in angered silence. A Francis misread
can kill for sympathy. Know that pain and fury
motivates strength, an undercurrent breeding
rebellious rains, meekly submissive for too long
but keen to own a voice over the wild flowers
where Heaven was once glimpsed. Behold!
Careless tongue, you cut blind and false, ruthless.
(Image: “The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun” by William Blake)
Voices under the Sun 陽光下的聲音 