Yield

Yield you say,
to me, yield soul
and intellect and thought.
I cannot. Generations
bid me stand, withhold
remain aloof and intact.

You want me to
sink into the mire of belief
unthinking, quiescent,
flacid of mind
laid out at your pleasure
revelling in surrender.

I demand consort, equality
divine responsiblity
sporting and sparing
a hunt for reality among
the illusions and lies
that is my heaven.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

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