How my objection seems poison to their bliss.
I see the acid curl around their lips
And still they smile,
Satisfied at being right, at last, the consolation
For a life well-lived, at least,
The most intangible of theories ...
As I'm overcome with grief:
I cannot know these people!
They are more than fashionably post-rational,
It's like they disappear before they go
Only to come back as an ugly bug
From a fondly-forgotten worm,
The gift, for all our discourse, of nothing
-- Autonomy! -- and if I'm agreeable
I still might be allowed my own opinion,
Unless, of course, I'm wrong
About the worms or how pain is somehow distinct
From the beautiful ...
And who am I to blame my confusion
On other humans
Much less God's inscrutable mercies?
Not so much as an answer as to defy me
The young child cried "humans are evil" definitively
And the weight of that made me weary,
Too tired to justify the crimes of commission
Like every rehabilitated innocent has always done.
