S. B.

AH SELF, how painful is thy going!
With what reluctant feet thou wend
Thy weary way; and fearful fend
The merest move that seeks to end
Thy vain career.

With what misgivings seest thou
The clear handwriting on the wall—
The words of doom that e’er recall
The fate of thy deceiving pall—
Duality.

The doom that is most merciful;
That ends hallucination’s throes,
And frees thee from thy fancied foes,
And brings to all thy countless woes—
Oblivion.

Ah self, give up! Thy mortal wounds
Are deep—thy efforts to regain
Are futile. Sing now thy last refrain—
That which must ever be but pain,
“Adieu forever!”

← previous | The Inner Life 1937 | next →