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 →