The summing up is never far behind.
The math of it all preys on us.
The fear of it lives one hair below the mind.
This implies more sadness, this less.
Because their suffering is not our suffering,
Our pride can tolerate them.
Similar suffering is unbearable.
There are truths of conscience which come too close;
Much of the world we simply can’t abide.
Some we love, others make us hide,
But not one can read our thoughts;
Not one knows who we are
Or why we love or don’t love them.
And we cannot explain it.
No philosophy can.
And for all the lamps and halls of learning here,
No matter how full of understanding we are, how polite,
All we do is obfuscate and fear.
Life is not an “is” but a “should.”
Some souls are glittering illusion,
Some souls are smoky, comforting confusion.
Some souls remain in the young, green wood
Never to face what we have to face, that life
Is more terrible than good.
This is the truth we run from every night
To the bored lover in the temporary day
Who tells us everything is going to be alright.