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Click hereInnocent looks
only the child is innocent
When can one be a blank slate
never, even when starting fresh
a pure canvas , a bright plate
polished still reflects those around
so whence innocence and whence purity
Give Me the other,
the dregs, and the dank
creeping out of the leaves ,
matted and rotting ,
fetid smells and sewer colors
That not be innocence
Not the Innocence I crave
a white sheet on which
writ in crimson
is the life of those who are in it
Taken and joined
sundered and torn
and then rendered whole
Together they shall and
flip over again,
till the cymbals peal
off the plaster
on the decrepit walls
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 36,000 poems.
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