prayer to god
for all who are unhappy
dear god, now on this mournful winter night, when all
your angels, from their countries of eternal peace,
lean down their lonely balconies to watch the earth
and slowly shower it with petals of white flowers,
the while it turns in silence in the infinite;
dear god, now on this night every fierce wind howls
like low sin laden souls rejected by the grave,
think of all those who lie her in their wretched beds
to sleep and muster their spent strength that they might bear
tomorrow also the same pains borne yesterday
dear god, take on a human heart and think tonight
of those old poets who’ve lived long in bitterness
because stern glory never once knocked on their door;
of those whose destiny, like a malignant wind,
knocks down whatever they have raised with love and toil;
those who rebelled against their lives and would not await
tomorrows, different from others, but that never came;
think of all those at whom the whole world stares and laughs,
those innocent, half looney fools that all men mock;
those who are chronically ill, who die their death each day;
those homely and shy girls who swoon away with love
though no one ever, ever comes to bring them love;
those who toil achingly that other men may rest,
the docile souls, the persecuted, and the good
who cannot shed a tear because they’ve wept so much;
dear god, think of all those who in this world are doomed
to stoop, to suffer, and to drag their heavy steps
yet in your tranquil churches find no consolation
because their wretched voices have long since been cracked
and your celestial throne looms far, far out of reach
dear god, think of all those most wrongfully unhappy,
but do not send them happiness as recompense
for this will not suffice them now for all their pain
but when today they close their weary eyes in sleep
let death come gently, softly to their wretched homes,
most gently and most softly that they may not waken,
and as a sister stooping low, not as a mother,
because a mother’s embrace is strong, her clasp despairing,
kiss them most tenderly on their closed, bitter lips
and in that kissing take away their breath forever.
Dear god, now on this mournful winter night, when all
your angels, from their countries of eternal peace,
lean down their lonely balconies to watch the earth
and slowly shower it with petals of white flowers,
do not chose by your side in paradise among
the chosen place these dead, but let them still lie buried
deep in the bowels of earth so that the foul world’s noise
might never reach their sleep. There let them lie forgotten.
The dead die only when they’re forgotten
(so when I forget the living
they die the death I wish them to die)
useless insects drunk with light
for all who are unhappy
dear god, now on this mournful winter night, when all
your angels, from their countries of eternal peace,
lean down their lonely balconies to watch the earth
and slowly shower it with petals of white flowers,
the while it turns in silence in the infinite;
dear god, now on this night every fierce wind howls
like low sin laden souls rejected by the grave,
think of all those who lie her in their wretched beds
to sleep and muster their spent strength that they might bear
tomorrow also the same pains borne yesterday
dear god, take on a human heart and think tonight
of those old poets who’ve lived long in bitterness
because stern glory never once knocked on their door;
of those whose destiny, like a malignant wind,
knocks down whatever they have raised with love and toil;
those who rebelled against their lives and would not await
tomorrows, different from others, but that never came;
think of all those at whom the whole world stares and laughs,
those innocent, half looney fools that all men mock;
those who are chronically ill, who die their death each day;
those homely and shy girls who swoon away with love
though no one ever, ever comes to bring them love;
those who toil achingly that other men may rest,
the docile souls, the persecuted, and the good
who cannot shed a tear because they’ve wept so much;
dear god, think of all those who in this world are doomed
to stoop, to suffer, and to drag their heavy steps
yet in your tranquil churches find no consolation
because their wretched voices have long since been cracked
and your celestial throne looms far, far out of reach
dear god, think of all those most wrongfully unhappy,
but do not send them happiness as recompense
for this will not suffice them now for all their pain
but when today they close their weary eyes in sleep
let death come gently, softly to their wretched homes,
most gently and most softly that they may not waken,
and as a sister stooping low, not as a mother,
because a mother’s embrace is strong, her clasp despairing,
kiss them most tenderly on their closed, bitter lips
and in that kissing take away their breath forever.
Dear god, now on this mournful winter night, when all
your angels, from their countries of eternal peace,
lean down their lonely balconies to watch the earth
and slowly shower it with petals of white flowers,
do not chose by your side in paradise among
the chosen place these dead, but let them still lie buried
deep in the bowels of earth so that the foul world’s noise
might never reach their sleep. There let them lie forgotten.
The dead die only when they’re forgotten
(so when I forget the living
they die the death I wish them to die)
useless insects drunk with light