INSIDERS

I look at you with the guilty, betrayed hesitation of initiates, cruel life. Thou sneaky, lying, self-serving, to the core. I know well how, in thy now aimless and aimless waving, thou hast trampled on the will of men. 

On the Niagara of my life I thought we would go together, waving his immortal hand: my stigma-guilty golgotha-soul has had almost all that has happened to me that makes the breaking steel as soft as the untrue amber-indents of everyday life. Red-pink spots burn my face: on the craters of my mg-not-understanding, which now like a drowning freedom thirsts for the enriching touch. 

In ages degenerated into puddles, I had to crawl on all fours like an animal, and endure the shackle-stretching treacheries. The hot-headed determination of youths I would envy but now: with stubborn obstinacy their willful characancies blaze in the place of their light-hearted hearts. 

As a dragonfly, or as a tiny beetle, softly fluttering, it would be so good to gather from my Dearest's nectar-flavoured lips, lurking, rich drops of honey. May weaken, if I can see it, in humble human nut-brains, the eclipses of the sun, which for many may obscure the simplified essence hidden in thought. I am overcome by the ancient shyness of revelations, when I can no longer be with the one to whom I have offered the box of my heart as a noble sacrifice. I'll waste even my childless molting years. 

My doubts hang me on the gallows, that under dead-weight stubborn burdens the Judas-tree of treachery may crumble! The feelings of a secret eternity in sympathy with the All. The frenzied muscle of my youth is ever waning, Yet would Some one still try Through an uncertain future to accompany me!