The Last of Me, A Poem

god for the Godless

I see you in your little box

thinking of all you think—

I should be thinking.

I do not sleep at night in your sheets

saint for the Unholy

I hear you in your little corner

calling curses

you would have me repeat

I am not on your clock

promise for the Faithless

who makes the blind believe—

they see, the deaf they hear

I read your words

then hastily forget

dream of the Unsleeping

I am wise to your wiles

and will not be snared

I am wise to your whiles

and will be spared the expense

compass for the Lost

succor for the Tempest-Tossed

gale and gust may push about

but I am stronger

than any bout of pain

help for the Helpless

light in the Dark

purpose for the Still-Standers

Where have you hidden what I seek?

give it to me—No! I do not want it

meaning for the Wayward

The more I look

the more I find I have lost

The more I look

the more I find I am lost

comfort for—Comfort for the troubled

I am broken at Your hand, and yet—

my reserves of strength against You

are unending

only I get to see the last of me