You, you so roseborn and luminous,
in guise and lifted into nothingness,
out of fear blunted blind and bound,
selling grief all its laughable advices

You, you lie springless and inconsolable,
in famine outside of Truth’s Mercy

This is tragic

It is the broken’s tears

This is freedom
in a world of dross

You weathered down call yourself perfect
while life’s dumb illusions become wills
and thoughts shape more dumbness
to explain reasons for all dumbness

Waivers of the only raised above
are tolerating vexed ridiculous ideals,
defined out from futilities’ stomachs
and will be found where miseries hunt

For while all High is praised
you love with what is spoiled

Ends
scraped forth
in suffering
where naught was
and soon forgotten
in turned sight’s snaring deeds

Warming this powerless pathfinder
which should loathe suffering’s might
before he here infected will self-starve
outside the existence of Truth’s mercy