BY DR. AGONSON
What dreams prevail against the night
when sleepless in my bed
I lay myself out flat to fight
the mem’ries of my head?
Unpleasant visions swell within,
and I must ask someone:
What worth is life when all that’s been
has been under the sun?
What makes a rose something adored
that I can feel it not?
What makes a man something abhorred?
How come alive I rot?
What dreams prevail against my night
when waking or asleep
my life is darkness without light,
a pit forever deep?