The Passion Of Lady Joan

The Passion Of Lady Joan
By A.Z. Foreman

After Yvor Winters

And now the Inquisition. You men speak
explaining me away. What was my wrong
again? Only my labor at not staying weak,
showing myself a different brand of strong.

You ask again: God's spear or Satan's arrow?
Why use such bitchcraft, drink of such desire?
The untold truth: I drew man's sword from sorrow
at peasants screaming under rape and fire.

What is a heretic? A woman skilled
in all ways of contending with a throne
is an insecurity risk when the blood spilled
beneath the moons of steel is not her own.

This truth I may not speak, nor you record,
But still we know it. As the sieges fell
I raised your hearts against you like one sword.
You feared in me much more than France or Hell

But the Timeless that unlaced me from the times.
Your coward times my men were right to scorch
have judged one's being herself the first of crimes.

The Timeless bids her be herself a torch.

If being burned she sheds light on that cage
in which too many a hero has been girled,
she would be knight and daylight, age by age,
the beacon, yearning, for an unslaved world.

Her truth to own herself she can but win.
Her enemy is but a lie of Man.
Yet men her name has torched shall call her kin.
Here is the Woman. Crucify who can.

1 comment:

  1. Тебе понятно страсть...поэта. Просто обожаю этот стих.

    Безумству храбрых поем мы славу. Безумство храбрых — вот мудрость жизни! О смелый Сокол! В бою с ... как искры, вспыхнут во мраке жизни и много смелых сердец зажгут безумной жаждой свободы, света! --Горкий

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