My bafflement forces my day to waste,
Shall I for them or for my eyes alone
Or for a purpose yet abstruse, go on –
Another serving of this bitter taste?
Yes sinner I am trying to be chaste,
fixated, haven’t I asked to be shown
The smallest hint – this pile of graveyard bones
Of questers like me, mislaid, having faced
The need to, with the billions like me, drift
In endless waves befuddling, born to mourn,
And die and then be crucified again
In cycles of this that they call the “gift”?
‘tis Life not Death that will cheat us each morn
To keep us here forever in his reign.