Did I miss it, the point of life?
falling for that big lie and loving it—love?
If I skipped the heartbreaks, the silent monotone misery,
traded for silence and monism,
was this such a terrible trade?
Sure, I'll have robbed another of lightened load,
buying enlightenment instead.
And if I acquired that sacred host,
with an account of loneliness have I not paid my price?
Pity the fallers in love,
for their god is in a man;
ours is higher, more mysterious, endless!
Yes, bad gods are those predictable beings;
rising and aching, beggar of the sun all her hours:
for chips, for want of rest, for commiseration,
hiding behind eyelids tilted down
never daring the true glance.
Yes, I have made the righteous trade
surely — only, they demand their misery, and mine.
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