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LINES FROM A PLAY
How shall our hearts not be hardened,
How shall our cry not offend,
Who have detected the god we are
In such incompetence?
We still may amount to something,
Suddenly stir in our sleep
And with random, magnificent motion,
Make a masterpiece!
Make the mountains skip like rams,
Lullaby the hurricane,
Find the cancer's hiding place,
Kill the great Leviathan!
We may even break our silence
And finally tell ourselves what,
Just what things hinge on Gehenna–
Yes, we may do that!
But with all the ruin behind us,
Our blessing must come too late.
To whom can it now matter?
How will it compensate?
