By S. T. Brant
I have suffered all in thought, and set that sun of pain within the heart to flame and flame and flame and burn the happy expectancies of life that I may show the Sovereign Chance, the mean shadow of sweet Caprice, Demiurge and Diceman, the dealer in the desert that knows the deck, Shuffler of the gusto of pain and pleasure, the unevener coldly even-ing, so that I may not endure the repetitions in the flesh these woes.
We played our cards as every silver day grayed;
so we’ll play our parts as the world fades.
When we met the savior in the desert on the 37th day,
did you have any expectation the world would end this way?