Cassandra


To me, one silly task is like another.
I bare the shambling tricks of lust and pride.
This flesh will never give a child its mother,--
Song, like a wing, tears through my breast, my side,
And madness chooses out my voice again,
Again. I am the chosen no hand saves:
The shrieking heaven lifted over men,
Not the dumb earth, wherein they set their graves.


(Louise Bogan)