the poem upon which undercover operatives imagined their own theft

Has Poetry any in not already well enough Hunted?
aka Who Am I?
aka The Lady of the Lake’s Perfection is Baked

To pay for my Treasure
Of word made Spell
Your $20 will learn you well
Treasure earned
Is treasure usefully kept
While treasure bought
The winds of change blow best

So follow my lead
In the Hunt upon stead
For my Magic and its spells
Were never free
Yet by freedom be

By post with surety
If you live not in the City
My treasure is in
Fearing not its secret
Through to you too
By mail and post who
Might send me their letter
That never
Your fear of unknown
In my words
But to read
Is the means I have shown
As ancient culture reads nature
We read the poem
That Reconciles now known
At my treasure
Of Hell I have lived
Alive I was and not too bad
Through the Valley of the Dead
And can remember death
That of everlasting life the promise
Be never unknown to my life
No matter how they try
And even already stole of
More than twice
That this is the Treasure
And I who bring it to you
Zen Yen Xenophobe be not
My writing will be less what
You strangely feel accustomed to
Yet you I know will read me true
For an eye on what do you
In money through
This is the story for you
A story about a small certain fact
Yet fact of no small uncertainty that
Of large impact
In which my own is the hat
Being quietly a shell shocking fact
That mine is to insulate its knowledge
Within layer upon layer of
Conditioned Scholar’s rage
My status not socially recognized
Nor falsely opposed when defined
Yet immutable of real impact
Yours to reap in the learning
Of gradual reading
This is no easy read through
Yet worth it be for you
If you can too
From Eternity to now and then
I did not do
138 show you
The only grounds left
Whose are Religious
In evidence for Science
And Mystic
Is my pact
You will never collapse
Within this its formidable fact
Of biological consequences
Not of war by in personal expenses
For those whom have kept me a girl
In mind all the time
By preventing my womanhood right
While forcing me seem their want to do
And stealing from me the memory
Of what hell is defined
Might yet of course realize
This is the well to the spell
And of time
Not more than sublime
That the more they have stolen of my life
The longer their own in hell to find
By mine
For I will again so as to defeat their kind
That the least they could do
Would be to let my will through
For the future they steal of
As though able exist at present
Doth shine
With eternity’s bind
Know it was for a very long time
From 1938 to 67’s grate
Upon thousands of lifetimes baked
That life be bliss beyond their comparing mind
I have won myself in eternity fine
But never without Allah time