Graham

Into the Scream of Life

In literature on October 10, 2009 at 2:27 pm


What is this gnawing, chewing, bones-breaking

In my inner ear?  Not words, but wailing,

Of a darkened animal past!  Welling up within,

Shrieking, reeking of a Murderous Emergence!

Born of Virgins!  When death, not man,

Is the measure of all things.

What is this emptiness called love?

Not love of God or life but death.

Raped upon a Lightning Plain,

Once upon a Pluvial Rain,

In a not so distant past,

In a not too distant gorge.

I am Risen from an Ape,

Wielding Murder in my gait;

Though my Life’s Nonviolent,

I may kill except in Lent.

Yea, as I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death,

I fear all evil, for the light has gone out.

I drown in the abyss which is myself.

I cast around in darkness, driven, directionless, relentless.

Death is the answer to a thousand things:

Our hopes, our promises, and would-be dreams.

The things undone which I ought to have done;

The things that I’ve done which I ought not to have done.

Death, not man, Is the measure of all things.


Copyright 2009 © by Tad Laury Graham
Written for a Class Project in 1965
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