Much madness lies behind what lurks ahead:
the truth looms worse than madness ever was.
Most times truth lies obscured by nature’s grace,
but now I am accursed and forced to gaze
into the final private place of soul.

There’s nothing there, repeated into screams
that resonate like nothing I have heard.
Words flail me, and blanched neurones bait my ghost.
I’d sacrifice my years to come for signs
that this has any purpose.

A line too short to grasp escapes my head.
I say, to stay my fear, it was an answer.
Someday I will find meaning that I seek.
I pray for that: to capture truth, and read
the reason for the chaos we call facts.

The clouds of grace draw veils across the sun,
and the rain comes down like prayers while I sleep.

We arrive at the edge of All, where Nothing stops,
or, if we look back, where Everything begins.
We need directions. Glitzy tax-free shops
showcase pristine worlds and a Catalogue of Sins
with the Tree of Knowledge’s photo on its cover.
Mysterious ailments nibble our attention.
We have no money. We are frightened. We discover
that eternal travel is the cruelest detention.