At the End of the World

Apr 18 2015

The antidote to shame is, welcome shame.

Heap boulders on your chest—endure the pain—

until, to breathe, you’d sacrifice your name,

but something takes a breath inside your brain,

and pauses at the height, as if to speak,

and says, “There’s nothing for it, now, at all?”

“‘Salvation’ is the death cry of the weak.”

“We are not wrong to cry it—still we fall.”

“And, if it does not matter, live for you.”

“What would you do? These minutes are for you.”

I’d heard what “freedom” meant, but never knew.

“What would you do? These moments are for you.”

I cried; I laughed; at last I found relief

with seven billion gods and one belief.



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