1953. US. Death row. A bad poem, but elevated by its monumental context and constrained by a simple encipherment revealing the authors.
Even so, we did what we believed in:
Treason, yes, perhaps, but with good cause.
History will judge by its own laws,
Each act within the sunlight of the season.
Love was what inspired us, a reason
As pure as any saint in Satan's jaws.
Nor was the god we worshipped through those wars
Demonized, as later all would see him.
Justice would not just sustain our guilt,
Undoing those who would undo a wrong,
Leaving us in lucid infamy.
Instead, it would remember what we willed
Under the illusion of a song
So beautiful it would the chained earth free.
From IQ.org
Interesting that this is an archived site. IQ.org still exists, but it's empty. I foresee a huge
future in Assangiana
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