a trifling bother burdenblack

i wish it were untrue

but i no longer look away

thats just what he would do

yet neither should i look for long

he might do that as well

and so the empty glass becomes

the fragile ego cell

where if i swing my smashing fist

then i am like to free it

so it is all within my power

to simply stand and see it

to see the evil in my flesh

indulgence in my eyes

that all of foreign good in me

must natively despise

my fist uncloses though it quakes

the grateful open hand

and all selfpity falls beside

my quiet kept command

that i may feel yet stay my rage

is freedom dignified

my jailer jeers and spits and stamps

to see himself denied

and now he mocks me tries at least

performs my peaceful motions

but drops of sorrow drive him mad

while i can welcome oceans

yes less proficient days there are

when i want not to swim

and when he dies i will remain

as half the ghost of him

but i am less and less afraid

to wash myself with grief

and if i raise the dead I swear.

the haunting will be brief