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