will was


will was but nothing

neglected in us, the nisus

that ruptured us, and left

these tiny fatuous scratches

on the dull surface of facticity,

the walls of God's grand hotel

Hell, just listlessly dismal glyphs

from these feeble fated

arms, Venus' fingers shaped to hold

or annihilate, to beat silent

against the void where man's holy

logos never left the puniest

trace - just all this gibberish

about freedom, determinism

and fate. the whole of history

and all our ancestries

are written in me, just

the tiniest discolouration

on a faithless God's

well-licked plate;

and all you wanted to see in me

just death's naked face.



- David McLean