2015-04-05

詩 Clawmarks

Why do I cling so desperately
To this flask of poison?
The fact that I ask the question
Proves that I am not yet willing

I must give it up to you
And yet I insist on knowing
How you will dispose of it
You brook no such demands

I cannot require you to take it
And yet retain control
Our just-in-time need-to-know contract
Requires that I be humble

Trust seems like my problem
But it's a circular argument
I must admit that by hanging on
I am trying to kill myself

I am not afraid of dying
I am afraid that I will live
And I don't know what that looks like
No poison means no turning back

I have admitted all this
My task is to apply it
To every new situation
Even where it seems not to fit

Trust is only revealed through action
All else is self-deception
If I pray to know the next right thing
I can move from belief to action

All I can ask of you
Is to tell me that one thing
And for the strength to do it
And the humility to do no more

The idea that I doubt you
Is another layer of denial
The fear that you will flub it
Is yet another conceit

I love to grind the dull edge
Of grim death's scythe
A harsh medicine, yes
But not a physician for all ailments1

Instead of taking your yoke
I offer you my freshly-ground axe
For the waiting necks of my enemies
Whoever I imagine them to be

You would make allies of enemies
While I would rouse friends
And the indifferent alike
To line up in their ranks

Fools walk off the cliff by themselves
If only I am content to wait and watch
As you lure and drive them over
Once they are free of my distractions

I only have to wait for my pain
To surpass my love of self-indulgence
Oh, if only you were not so patient
With my willingness to bar your way


1Sir Walter Raleigh

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