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  • NOBLE POETRY  

  • MOODY-MEDITATION

     

    I have become an apostate! My heart's hesitant inertia, frustrated hesitation, All stiffer than a shell - It no longer moves when you touch it, - But what a stumbling boulder still keeps its gathering memories: scared by bold, bold bridegrooms of existence, profit-hunting, life-trampling businessmen of Being; on ruffled nerves, thistle-living courage quivers, flame-burning vile wills still tense, waiting to unfold. 

    I can do no more! I bear every hurt or grievance, repugnant gloat, mischievous fate's blast, That chokes me with a regular unbearable choke, And may ruin me! I strive to be brave and resolute where my shouting eyes have taken root, and I cannot bear the fire of the spiteful blows, wherever the malignant Fate may drag me! Can I still be a man, where the law, To be a man is supreme, has been reduced to a commodity to be sold?! Only a glimmer of hope shines in me. Silvery beats out the remaining sea of silver in my hair the cavorting anxiety; my nervous system may be eaten up by the loss of consciousness beyond sixty, - I cannot get from the One-Beadle a cure for my spiritual wounds from far away. 

    Who can stay with me in intimacy, in fidelity, who will hear me through?! All my rock-solid, lasting arguments, why the Dear One should choose me, who with her tender, caring love embraces and comforts me like a motherless, orphaned child, are slowly running out. The sure-fire uncertainty of tomorrow's death will sooner or later permanently crush me, crush me to death! The wounding buds of wild clamours are healed by inhuman silence, and where is there to be a faithful, honest kinsman or friend? I have offered my broken dog-heart in a million shapes to many!  

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