Angst Week: Selfish

 

 

Empty, still quiet heart of mine

What lurks ‘neath the surface to hide;

The bland pool I can no long’r abide.

Scylla calls my name and knows my sign,

Between love and hell I walk a thin line.

I cannot walk alone – I know, I’ve tried.

I told myself the truth, and found I lied.

Rapids so dark and dark and fine.

Plunging on the torpid wave, falling far too slow,

Through barren rage and sorrow I descend.

There is just one certain thing I know.

I will find only myself at the end.

 

 

 

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2 thoughts on “Angst Week: Selfish

  1. I must admit that i have a hard time following this sort of poetry. However it seems to be a rather Cartisian poem, as though the only thing that truly exists is you. that is one thing I never understood about DeCartes, is that if that was true then you would be your own end and that is self-defeating.

    • Sort of. It was meant to be more psychoanalytical, in that the more you try to work on yourself and concentrate on yourself, the more lonely and selfish you become. Without reaching outside yourself and concentrating on others, your self-respect cannot exist. So it is a deliberately Christian paradox.

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