oh but it does not the absence of movement

oh but it does not the absence of movement
efface the movability of thought!
what can’t be done in stagnated crusade
shall in articulate fervor be sought.
ne’er shall in the dearth of mind be adept,
nor shall in conduct be most practical;
for where sensibility is in sight,
strewn therefore the flamed lexis of impulse.
though this they harbor ‘gainst my liberty:
how now in plain material recompense
that so spent in fanciful poverty,
my deeds’s afterthought at another’s expense?
oh heav’ns, bid not in accord with their quand’ry,
lest you divest me my ability!

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my heritage is acreage of words

my heritage is acreage of words,
as papers at will with metaphors dripped.
I was fashioned with fanciful letters,
mistress to countries abroad unpossessed.

to verses my vagaries of heart caught,
exploring language as yet to be said.
to such unsolicited pining lost,
so that in lines and rhymes such whims are set.

but to what profit is this aquaintance
to words pillaged and worlds dominated?
will such loot to me cause yonder senses
to evermore yield fondness so dogged?

alas! my po’sy is yet found in quisling’s
province, with bygone days collab’rating.