"At least I have the flowers of myself, and my thoughts, no god can take that; I have the fervour of…"

At least I have the flowers of myself,
and my thoughts, no god
can take that;
I have the fervour of myself for a presence
and my own spirit for light;

and my spirit with its loss
knows this;
though small against the black,
small against the formless rocks,
hell must break before I am lost;

before I am lost,
hell must open like a red rose
for the dead to pass.



- H.D., from “Eurydice” (via awritersruminations)

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