I was 16-years-old when I wrote this dark, foreboding piece.  It was decades before I realized I had been writing about my own abuse.  Back then I titled it

‘Passionate Death’

Flames shoot through the darkness
Yet the darkness is not there.
Passion erupts in a mind
Yet it is a mind cold to the eye.
Ecstasy bypasses pride
Yet the pride is only a cover.
Confusion bursts through to the mind
But a mind there is no longer.
All is animal and savage
Yet a wounded animal hides.
Hiding provides no safety
Yet safety is felt there.
Blackness shrouds the mind
Yet light is all around
Death prevails above all.
Copyright 1969 Joyce Bowen

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