A Crisis

The world is much too big for me,
The people bigger far,
The jobs are much too hard for me:
The world is like a war.

The competition sickens me,
The marketing interns,
The person flaming with success
While their sad neighbour yearns.

There’s nothing I can do for you!
No damn career plans,
No working out a salary,
No future in my hands!

Saddest to say I can’t see God,
A burning world indeed,
A world in which I go to hell
And still don’t take heed.

Yet even nothings go beyond
The reaches of my mind:
Sure to say, of hopelessness
There’ll be another kind.

No, there’s no way to vindicate
But I can’t die quite here:
My poetry may die, because
It should have finished clear,

But still I have to go, return:
Does it the harder grow?
The heart that’s turned away, and sick
Leans out of the window

Longing for God, not my cleverness,
And not my silly rhymes,
Kneeling to God, not my poetry
Or several other crimes.

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