when thrust upon a rail before the train?
Resignation?... but can there be less pain
when we acquiesce to the butcher’s knife?
The future life?... The stars who can explore,
and who can guess the ending of the world?
Joy?... but at the bottom of our souls lie furled,
those thoughts that mid enjoyment cry for more.
So what is left? In all the faiths of yore
we find no comfort. Things for us are clear.
What is your shield against the evil’s spear,