Aug 212011
Electra longs for her lone ideal
	 Impatient with passion on her stoop,
	 Unarmed before the vicious troop,-
Cries from poor girl's woe for her weal.

Antigone, tender to her core,
	 Going round and round in grief
	 Mills herself but sad relief:
To kill the state with grief too pure.

What value vaunts from remorse, or worse?
	 Justice, with adamantine edge
	 Turns crystal from a shaken tear
Solidified from sighs, or worse.

In a breast gone god-abandoned
	 What good does grief reveal?
	 What idol does a tear revere?
I have not earned what rosaries condone.

Never another lie to 'get along,'
	 To manipulate the powerless,
	 To add confusion to their duress;
Never deception from the strong,

Never after venial convenience to strive
	 But all must be benign transparency
	 And facts alone the obduracy.
I resolve to struggle and to live

With difficult fact and effortful truth.

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