by Dr. Agonson
Oh great sorrows welling in my soul, is no spring brought forth? You, miner in my heart, is no precious thing found at all redeeming this cold stone? Bring forth all the records and let me know if there is a God who will make the waters flow again into my eyes and give me life in my demise. Oh cruel villainy of my hand, my chain around my throat. I am dragged deeper and ever deeper. Can you not move your hand and breathe again new life? Here darkness closes in. Separate me from this flesh.
Oh deep waters, where can you be found? Where hides you? Oh I would drown, should I find thee, and be cleansed. But here is nothing but dry dirt, sand blowing in the wind. I would for a drop an ocean pay, I would for a tear be a soul remade. But nothing is here but the dry ground, nothing I want can be found. I eat, and am hungry; I fast and am full.
Oh what a wicked creature I am.
I read an epitaph of stone. In a garden of rocks one grew under a shady elm. I must have planted it, for I am one of all men. When a man kills is not my hand also bloodied? So here I must have dug a grave and buried myself for my sins. I read, it said, “No more.” Then a sniff sent to me by the baker eased my conscience and again I said, “Again.”
Oh what rottenness is in me that I return again to vomit?
How cold and unfeeling I am. No poet can scale this wall, and no muse inspire this corpse. I must be buried soon for the stench of my rot must also come. No dead thing does not rot. Again I awake and see the line of sense and dream remain. Last night I poured a cup of water and found it full of dust. So then I filled the cup with wine and placed it to my lips finding there only emptiness.
I am so thirsty, but do the dead thirst? I am so weary, but don’t the dead sleep? This matter puzzles me and sends me on a quest. I ask the fool no question but wait for he’ll speak his mind. Today he tries to prove that going west is towards the east and east is towards the west. But no one hears him speak for they are all traveling and have no time to consider direction.
I came upon a crow feasting on remains and thought, “What a joyous day.” Eat me I commanded, and for my eyes he flew. But flinching I asked him, “Leave the eyes for last. Perhaps Before I am gone a tear could rend this pain away and redeem my sorry frame.” But here he only flew away.
I lay down in the dust and wake up.
Listen to my beautiful voice: