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If I seek to flee tormenting thoughts--
because I'm so very tired--I find it's no use--they're still there. Wherever I turn, however try to drive them away, they thrust themselves up in a relentless even fierce assault. If I threaten them, they laugh, rack, break me until I can think of nothing else; if I yield, suddenly they have wings, imperious, elude me. What should I do? who will comfort or help a mind self-tortured. How hard the world is. My present so painful, my future perhaps worse. Yet while maybe death has undone so many, I wish my pain to go on and on. |
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Notes: B A2:7:57. Key |