There is a great and unearned sadness,
In the tired and loathsome creatures,
Given instruction by the abomination,
Persisting as monsters do, with hunger.
Come then and devour all human misgiving,
And become its chief apologist.
No soul but what can be stolen from me,
No transformation, no energy just the fall.
In the image of his righteous indignity,
Yet surely behind the veneer of this evil,

The faithful are writhing with sufficiency,
Becoming impossible, incapable, unlovable,
Yet I should strive not to hate that heaven,
I cannot begrudge them that happiness,
Are not pleasures infinite from faith rewarded?
Should they not be celebrated and feared?
Accomplishment deserving of my accession,
Delight and savagery without lament,
Possessing that which I sought but cannot uphold.

I without having, am without that sadness,

What remains of me will persist until the end.