in divers fashions
do I run towards my desolation
clamoring for mine own ruin.
Through my own devices do I fall.
My machinations corrupt me
inwardly. Yet know I it not.
I cry "Fiend!" when I stumble
in my pursuits and beat
at the west wind as though
to rent it asunder.
"Foe!" I cry and cast stones
at the sun as my
wrath waxes hot.
I clutch an handful of earth
and break it; decrying it to be
the source of my sorrow.
I tread heavily in the
puddles in the market as though they
were the tide pools from which
my folly flows.
Two things do I desire in life.
Yea, three things would bring me joy:
Wealth in great measure,
Renown in the gates,
And women at my call.
Yet, You deny me happiness.
You trip me ere my race begins
in earnest.
And for each impasse
You place betwixt me
and my bliss,
I thank You, Lord.
Deliver me ere I
achieve my ends.
Amen.
Get your own Free Home Page