The Place called Refuge
The refuge they took – it’s
called the Malheur.
Note the name matches their
countenances dour.
Well chosen! For the freedom they find is bitter
there
The dissonance more than their
souls can bear.
Within them chthonic furies rage
Pseudo-individualists trapped and
caged.
The myths of plenty and endless
vistas
Before them now but receding
distance.
Give no more performances of
passionate dance.
What DO they want to accomplish
out there?
Will they be stewards? The land needs care.
They live sickened hours and
final days
And slam all doors that lead out
of the maze.
Do not grant them that empty
place
It’s already fully a sacred
space.
Instead fill their lives with
visionary grace.
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